Human Contact
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: I was playing around with different styles of writing when I started this one, and I finally finished it. Teaser: Trapped in the darkness, desperate to get out... and what is the fallout? Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Not mine! I don't own NCIS or any of the characters... but boy it would be nice if I did.

**A/N:** The first few chapters are short. That is intentional. Regular lengths return along the way.

* * *

**Human Contact**

By Enthusiastic Fish

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**Chapter 1**

He pounded on the ceiling. It was so low that he couldn't stand up straight. He pounded and shouted, pleading for release. The walls remained spitefully solid. He'd already tried breaking them down and gotten a bruised shoulder for his trouble. Had it been hours or days? Minutes or years? He had no idea. Time had no meaning in this room, this cage. He didn't even know how he had arrived here. One minute he'd been standing outside, the next in here, in the dark. He had opened his eyes and closed them again. It didn't make any difference, but at first he could pretend it wasn't pitch black if his eyes were closed. It was so quiet when he stopped pounding...

...It was starting to feel stuffy. That was a bad sign. He was using up too much oxygen, and it obviously wasn't being replaced. But what was the point in conserving it? So he could stay alive that much longer and die later? No, don't think about that. He pounded and pounded. He hit the ceiling so many times that he started leaving bloody prints as he broke the skin, and eventually the bones, of his clenched fists, not that he could see them. It was pitch black. Besides, the pain helped him remember that he was still alive. It was getting harder to believe that. There was no sound except for the noise he was making, no light, nothing. He couldn't stay still, and so he pounded on the ceiling. His voice began to crack but he kept shouting, the exclamations fading to wordless cries. He couldn't let the absolute silence, emptiness, descend. Sometimes he was frantic, sometimes determined. It didn't matter, so long as he didn't have time to remember that he was alone, that no one was there, that no one knew where he was. He couldn't think about the fact that he was going to die, slipping seamlessly from living to dead, leaving just his shell behind. There seemed to be nothing else in the entire world. Just him. Just the unending pounding...

...Over time, the pounding became weaker and weaker; the shouts dying away as his voice finally gave out completely. There was only an occasional muffled thump indicating the presence of life within the box. No one was around to hear it, but it was there. In the small embers of his dying consciousness, he knew it was essential that someone know he was in there, that they find him so he could relay what he knew. He slid to the ground and contented himself with hitting the wall with one bloody fist. Over and over. He would hit the wall and let his hand slide down to his lap. He would rest and then hit again, repeating the process. It was hopeless, but he persisted. No matter how bad things get, a part of us always clings to life. He was clinging, but his grip was getting weaker...


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_Thump._

"There's nothing out here, Agent Gibbs. Rollings lied. You shouldn't be surprised."

"He's here. We don't stop until we find him. Fan out."

_Thump._

_Thump._

_Thump._

"I hear something, Boss."

_Thump._

_Thump._

"I hear it, too, Gibbs."

"You see that?"

"Where?"

"There! That must be it."

_Thump._

"McGee! Can you hear me?"

_Thump._

"Get him out of there! Now!"

"What if it's not him? It could be a trapped animal for all we know."

"It's him. Get started."

"Agent Gibbs, we don't know exactly where he is. If we start drilling into that room and knock debris onto him..."

"I don't care. Get him out!"

_Thump._

_Thump._

_Thump._

"Listen to that. I think it's coming from this side. Start drilling over there and direct the blade away from the sound."

"You heard the man. Do it!"

_Thump._

_Thump._

The sound of drilling soon drowned out the pitiful sounds emanating from the prison. It had been well-hidden all right. Well-hidden in plain sight. It had taken them over a day to find it even after catching the guy who had planned on making him a part of the decorations.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Light. Just a little bit, but light. He hadn't seen it in so long. He kept hitting the wall, not sure why, but knowing that he didn't have the energy to do more.

More light. It was like standing in front of a search light after so long in the dark. He closed his eyes. It was too much light after so much darkness. He didn't see the shadowy figures crawl in. His first indication of human presence was when he felt a touch on his knee. He didn't know how to respond.

_Thump._

_Thump._

"McGee. It's okay. We've got you now."

_Thump._

"McGee." A hand touched his, stopping his mechanical movements. He didn't resist.

"Boss, look at this..." The voice was full of horror.

"McGee."

His eyes opened, unseeing, blinking in the harsh lights flashing on him.

"Come on, McGee. It's time to leave."

Hands pulled at him, urging him to move. He couldn't do it. He couldn't leave. They were taking him out and he wanted that. Oh, he wanted that, but he couldn't do it. His mind rebelled at the idea of emerging from his cage. What was out there? He didn't resist. He didn't have the energy to do so, but he didn't help them either.

"McGee."

They kept saying the name. It was his. He should respond. He didn't know how. He was out of the box now, his eyes starting to adjust to the light. He saw people. He knew them all. They had names. They meant something to him, but he couldn't do anything about it. Pain flared up as different hands touched his own, covering one of them with cloth. Even though it was pure agony, he didn't move, didn't react.

"Where's that ambulance?" That voice was angry... and afraid?

"It's on the way, Agent Gibbs. They'll get here." A more detached voice, unfamiliar. Unfamiliar meant not worth the effort at this point.

"McGee, stop. You don't have to do that anymore." Do what? He looked and saw a hand, bloody and mangled almost beyond recognition, making strange motions in the air. The voice was right. That wasn't necessary. He thought about not doing it and was surprised when the hand obeyed his thought. More hands covering his with cloth. Pain lanced through him, but he didn't even stiffen.

"He can hear us, can't he, Boss? Why isn't he saying anything? Why isn't he moving?"

"I don't know, Tony. McGee, can you hear me?"

The effort involved in moving his eyes from the middle distance to the face of the man supporting him was too much. It required more than just moving his eyes. He had to engage his mind as well. He tried. He really did, and for an instant he focused. A pair of worried blue eyes met his and then his weakened body rebelled and he went back to the middle distance.

"He can hear us, Tony. He focused on me for a second there."

"I can hear the ambulance, Gibbs."

"It's about time." Time. What was the time? Suddenly that seemed really important. He didn't know why. He just knew that he needed to know what time it was, what day it was. It was important enough to try and speak, to think. His lips moved, but no sound came out.

"What was that, McGee?"

_Time. Time. What's the time? _Why couldn't he say the words?

"Something's important, Gibbs. Look at his eyes."

"Just mouth the words, McGee. Don't try to make any noise. Mouth the words."

His mouth moved. It seemed to take forever. Time.

"It's 10:30, McGee."

Not enough. His mouth moved again. More.

"More?"

Yes, more.

"It's Friday, May 25th."

Was there time? Why was that so important?

"Soon." The word tumbled from his lips, nothing more than a cracked whisper. No one heard.

"What's so important about the time, McGee?"

Too late. His mind had already moved on, wandering around in mental circles, stopping to smell the metaphorical roses. He couldn't stay awake anymore. There was time. He was sure of it. Enough. Enough for him to sleep. He wasn't going to die. That thought suddenly became clear. He was alive and he would stay that way. He grabbed one of the hands, one of those hands conveying so much kindness and worry; he didn't know which one. It was smaller than his. It hurt, but he didn't care. Pain helped him know he was still alive, that he wasn't alone. He needed the security of contact, the contact he'd been without for so long. Swirling darkness, like whirlwinds, took over and dragged him down into the sea of unconsciousness.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"His grip is surprisingly strong for someone in his condition, particularly since he now appears to be unconscious," Ziva said clinically. For some reason she didn't immediately try to pull her hand free when Tim's eyes closed, though she could have done so easily.

"Over here!" Tony shouted and waved his arms to get the approaching medics' attention.

The medics arrived, bearing a stretcher. They gently removed Ziva's hand from Tim's. The three watched in silence as he was carried quickly to the ambulance. None of them moved until it had disappeared from view. Then, as one, they turned back to the prison.

"Why was he hitting the ceiling, boss?" Tony asked, swallowing with difficulty as his flashlight revealed the bloody marks Tim had left in his frantic pounding. "Why not the walls?"

Ziva began examining the revealed structure of the cage. "The ceiling sounded hollow. That's why." She demonstrated on an unstained portion. "There's a thin layer of empty space between the sheetrock and the wood. It would have sounded more promising to him. The walls, on the other hand, are solid. Sheetrock, wood, concrete blocks. But there's no way he could have escaped in any case."

"He was trying, though," Tony said quietly. He shook off the horror and began to photograph the scene.

"How did he stay alive for so long, Gibbs? This box is not large enough to hold air for more than a day or two."

"I don't know yet, Ziva."

They processed the scene in silence. No one asked the question, but they all were thinking it: how long _had_ Tim been in there?

"Boss, I found something!"

"What is it, Tony?"

"Here in the corner. It's so small that I almost missed it." He pointed past the bloodstains to a tiny hole. "It's an air hole. It wouldn't let in much, but it might have been enough."

"He's right," Ziva reported from outside the box. "I found a tube in the same location, but it's been plugged up."

"A day or two," Gibbs mused. "Rollings must have sealed it off just before we arrested him. I can't believe we were so close."

"The whole time," Ziva said to herself. Tony heard her and glanced over. She pretended that she hadn't noticed and continued to gather evidence from Tim's prison. Still, the image of Tim laying motionless on the ground, holding her hand, kept interfering with her usual stoicism. It had taken her too long to figure out where he was and that blank stare was the result.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Light. Blessed light. He seemed unable to do anything more than bask in the joy of being able to see again. People had tried to get him to respond. Strangers. People in white coats. Doctors. He had wanted to, but he just couldn't do it. He couldn't break out of the mental cage he was in yet. He didn't really try. He knew there were things he'd have to do once he broke through. And then, a familiar face. Dark hair, eyes dark with concern. A kind hand brushed his forehead. He took in the stimuli, but that was all. Then, it was gone. The presence gone, his mind shut down again.

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Later, a voice. Two voices, but only one mattered.

"What's wrong with him? Why won't he say anything?"

"He's in a semi-catatonic state which appears to be a reaction to the trauma he suffered."

"Can't you do anything?"

"We could use pharmaceutical treatments, but I would rather he came out of it on his own. The drugs we use to treat catatonia can be addicting and have some severe withdrawal side effects."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that we need to wait and see. You are one of his coworkers?"

"No. I'm his friend. We work together, but I'm his friend."

"Does he have any family?"

"Not that we can contact right now."

"Then, let him know that _you're_ here. I think he sees you, but right now he can't respond. Talk to him and show him that he's safe. We're doing our best, but we're strangers to him, and in my opinion, he needs to have people around him who know him and care about him. Catatonia is not well-researched and so some of what I'm telling you is conjecture on my part. Because it can be cured with drugs, most doctors aren't interested in the underlying causes. I just don't think that treating the symptoms and ignoring the cause is the best way. Trust me, Ms. Sciuto."

"Okay."

A hand, a familiar hand on his arm, rubbing it gently. He felt the head lean on his shoulder.

"Tim? Can you hear me?"

The voice again. He heard it and cherished the kindness in it, the friendship it represented.

"I'm here, Tim. No one can hurt you now. We caught him. You're safe. I won't leave you."

He didn't respond. It was nice, seeing the light, feeling her touch, knowing he wasn't alone. Those things mattered. Nothing else did.

"Tim, I wish you would say something. I know I'm the one who usually does most of the talking, but this time I can't think of a thing to say."

She didn't need to say anything. Just being there was enough. Lulled by the unfamiliar feeling of security, his eyes closed and he slept.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"He looks so normal right now, except for the boxing gloves on his hands," Tony said when he came by the next Monday.

"It's worse when he's awake. He just stares into space. He doesn't respond to anything." Abby shook her head and looked at the sleeping figure with concern.

"Has he said anything?"

"Nope. Not a word. The most he does by himself is blink and even that doesn't happen very often. What happened to his hands, Tony?"

Tony hesitated.

"Come on, Tony. I've seen stuff like this before."

"But not on McGee."

"True. What happened?"

Tony took a deep breath and let it out. "He was trapped inside this little room. He must have been trying to... break down the walls or the ceiling."

"He did this to himself?!"

"Yeah. It looks that way."

"Oh. What was it like?"

Tony considered intentionally misconstruing her question, but he knew that Abby wouldn't give up that easily, and besides, she'd be seeing the evidence photos anyway. "It's a rectangular box, basically. About four feet high, eight feet long and six feet wide. It would have been pitch black inside."

"How did he do it?"

"We don't know yet. Ziva doesn't say anything, but I'm pretty sure she feels guilty for letting McGee get taken."

"It wasn't her fault. We didn't even know Rollings was there at the time. We didn't even know _about_ Rollings."

"I know that. You know that. Even _she_ knows that. It doesn't change the fact that Rollings took McGee only fifty feet from her and got away."

"Is she here?"

"No. She and Gibbs are back at NCIS."

"I probably should go back too, but I promised Tim I'd be here." Abby was torn. She didn't want to leave Tim like this, but she also had work to do.

"I'll stay here for a while, Abbs. If he wakes up, I can call you."

"But what if he wonders where I am?"

Tony chuckled. "Abby, if he is aware, I can explain things to him. If he's not, it will hardly make a difference whether you're here or not."

"You're right." She started gathering up her stuff. Then, suddenly, she turned back and jabbed her finger at Tony's chest. "You'd better call me if he wakes up... or else."

Tony put his hands up. "I will. I promise."

"Good."

After Abby left, Tony took her vacated seat. He looked around, trying to see if anyone was watching. Satisfied that he was alone with the slumbering figure, he gently put his hand on Tim's shoulder. "You're going to be okay, Tim," he whispered. He and Tim were often at loggerheads, but when push came to shove, they were friends. Not close friends, perhaps, but friends, and Tony knew that. He also knew that friends were there for each other. That's why he was there.

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He opened his eyes. There was someone there. It was not the same hand on his shoulder as had been there before. There was light. He was alive.

"McGee? Can you hear me?"

It was another voice, concerned but not the same. He knew the voice. There was something...no. His mind refused to acknowledge any necessity beyond breathing. He was letting life happen _to _him right now.

"Abby said that he's been like this since they brought him out of surgery, Boss. I don't know if..."

Two voices. Both familiar, both important. Another hand, different, turned his face gently. He saw the same blue eyes that he had seen before. He wasn't used to seeing them looking so worried.

"He's in there, Tony. I have a feeling that he knows something."

"I'd better call Abby. She'll kill me if I don't."

Nothing. His eyes closed again.

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Tim opened his eyes. At first, all he could see was darkness and he shrank from it. Then, just before he had locked himself away again, he felt a hand on his arm. He wasn't alone, but it was so dark. He let out a small whimper. Like a child afraid of a monster under the bed, he wanted to huddle under the covers, but his stiffening startled the hand and in moments there was light again.

"Tim! You're awake! _Are_ you awake? Can you hear me? Say something!"

The voice was like a breath of fresh air. He had to respond. His voice was harsh and raspy from its recent abuse, but he managed to whisper, "Abby." With effort, he moved his eyes and his head. He turned toward the sound... and saw her. Really saw her. Her hair was wild and her makeup smudged, but her eyes grabbed him and held him.

"Yes, Tim! It's me," Abby said delightedly.

"Abby..." he could only whisper her name. At the moment, she represented safety.

"Oh, Tim. I'm so glad you've come out of it. You had me scared. How are you feeling?"

"So...dark..." Tears ran down his cheeks. He made no move to wipe them away.

Finally, Abby realized that Tim might be awake, but he was not whole yet. "I'll go get your doctor, Tim." She stood to leave.

"No... not alone." He still didn't move, but even though he only whispered, she heard the fear and saw the panic in his eyes already giving way to the dullness that had dominated before.

"Okay, Tim. I'll just push the call button here." She leaned over and did so. "I won't leave you. You're not alone." She couldn't hold his hands, bandaged as they were, but she put her hand on his cheek, wiped away the tears.

A nurse came in. "Oh, he's awake, is he?" she said cheerfully. Her smiled wavered slightly when she saw Abby's concerned expression, but it didn't fade. "I'll just get your doctor. Welcome back, Timothy." With that she was gone.

Tim kept his eyes focused on Abby. They didn't move. He barely blinked. Every time Abby looked down at him, he was staring, as if he were afraid she'd disappear if he looked away.

"Abby..." his voice was so soft she almost missed it.

"What, Tim?"

His breath came in short gasps. "Abby."

She smiled. "I'm here, Tim. I won't leave."

His lips moved again as he tried to speak. No sound came out.

Gently, Abby put a finger on his lips. "Shhh. Don't worry, Tim. Everything is all right now."

His eyes said that he didn't believe her, but he stopped trying to speak.

When Dr. Samson arrived, he checked Tim's casts carefully. "How are you feeling, Timothy?"

Tim had not resisted any of the doctor's ministrations, but he didn't even try to speak to him. He sat and stared.

"Tim still can't speak, Dr. Samson. He just barely managed to whisper my name."

"Okay, Timothy. Just nod or shake your head. Do you feel any pain in your hands right now?"

Tim stared at his bandaged hands as if he'd never noticed them before. He looked at Dr. Samson, his eyes wide.

"Okay. I'll change my question. Do you _feel_ your hands right now?"

Tim again stared at his hands. This time, he shook his head slightly.

"If your hands start to hurt, let a nurse know and I'll be back. Right now, it's important that you don't try to move your hands, particularly your left hand. It sustained the most damage. It will take weeks to get you back to full functioning, but it is possible, provided you do what I tell you. Do you understand?"

Still staring at his hands, Tim nodded. Having finished his examination, Dr. Samson left.

...so dark, so quiet. He'd pounded on the ceiling... Tim felt a hand on his arm, bringing him out of his reverie.

"Tim, I'm so sorry."

Finally, Tim looked up at Abby. His eyes filled with tears. He tried to smile, but he couldn't. He just shook his head. "Don't..." he whispered. She couldn't tell what he was trying to tell her not to do, but he couldn't explain. Abby stayed the rest of the night, but Tim didn't speak again even though he knew there was something he had to say.

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Then, suddenly, it was too late. The time had passed. One moment, it was just another boring day of signing people into and out of the Navy Yard; then, the SUV careened toward the gate and blew up just as it crashed through.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

It was hard to believe that just two hours earlier this scene had been complete chaos, people running, screaming. Fires everywhere. As Gibbs, Tony and Ziva walked around the crime scene, just outside of their offices, and gathered evidence, it seemed very strange.

"What are the odds that we'd have two cases occurring right at the gates?" Tony asked.

"Well, I don't think that anyone is hiding under the seat cushions this time," Ziva responded wryly as she looked at the charred remains of the car.

"If they were, they're not there now." Gibbs said. "Get these samples to Abby. I want her to find out where the C-4 came from. I don't like this."

"You think Rollings is behind this? He's still sitting in the holding cell, Gibbs. If this was a jail break, it failed miserably."

"Something is wrong, Ziva, and we're missing it," Gibbs said firmly. It seemed unlikely that this could be coincidental to the man they were currently holding and the agent they had rescued.

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"You're right, Gibbs. The C-4 came from the batch that Rollings stole." Abby was uncommonly subdued as she gave the results of her tests. She hadn't wanted to leave Tim alone that morning. He looked so helpless in that bed, and he had cried silently when she started to leave. However, this was her job, and catching the bad guys would keep Tim safer than she could by just sitting next to him. "Rollings has an accomplice."

"Or, Rollings _is_ the accomplice. We don't know enough and Rollings isn't giving us anything. Are you sure that he's the one who stole the C-4?"

"Yes, Gibbs. We have his DNA and his fingerprints," Abby said, her latent worries about Tim wearing down her usual good nature. "Do you really want me to go over all the evidence with you again?"

"No." Gibbs paused and then asked, "How is he?"

Abby shrugged and turned away. "Every time I leave, he starts to cry, but he doesn't move. He just sits there with tears running down his cheeks. When I'm there, all he does is say my name. His voice is coming back, but it's still too early to tell what will happen with his hands."

Gibbs turned Abby back toward him. She valiantly tried not to cry. "The doctor says he's getting better, but it doesn't seem like it. I don't know what to do, Gibbs. I don't know!" She hugged him tightly.

"He'll be okay, Abby. I promise," Gibbs said and kissed her forehead.

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Tim was the same when Abby came by at the end of her shift, staring and nonresponsive.

"Tim, why won't you _do_ anything?" she asked, despairingly. "We need you back."

As had become usual, Tim just looked at her. He definitely _saw_ her, but he just didn't really respond to anything. She had been so excited when he had first said her name, but that initial awakening had not signaled a trend of improvement as far as she could tell. She sat down next to the bed and put her head in her hands. It seemed so hopeless. After a few minutes, Abby felt a light thump on her shoulder. She looked up and saw a bandaged hand slide from her shoulder back to its usual place on the bed.

"Tim..." She looked at him. He was crying again, but not out of fear this time. He wasn't afraid. He was sad. She sat on the edge of his bed and hugged him. For a timeless moment, Tim didn't respond, but then, almost hesitantly, as if he were trying to remember how to do it, his arms encircled her waist and he returned her embrace. He still didn't say anything, but his weak grip grew tighter and more certain. "Tim, we need you to snap out of it. Please," she whispered. His arms dropped and he went passive again.

"Ah, this is Timothy, I take it?"

Abby jumped and turned. A woman in a lab coat stood leaning casually against the door frame.

"Who are you?"

"Dr. Andrea Chakhravartty," she answered, grinning at Abby's expression. "But no one ever calls me that; so don't bother with it. Just call me Andy."

"But _who_ are you?" Abby repeated, although she was smiling herself.

"I'm Timothy's psychiatrist."

Abby started to protest that Tim didn't _need_ a psychiatrist, but one glance at him, his obvious fear, even after more than a week of freedom, his lack of movement, it was clear that Tim needed help and although she hated to admit it, he needed more help than she could give him. She stuck out her hand. "Nice to meet you; I'm Abby." She stood to leave.

"Oh, you don't have to leave. I can wait."

"No, I need a little break anyway." She turned to Tim. "I'll see you in awhile, okay Tim?"

Tim looked from Abby to Andy and back with his frightened eyes. He didn't protest, but his anxiety at her departure was palpable.

Abby smiled encouragingly at him and left quickly so he couldn't see the pain on her face. Tim looked out the window at the dwindling sunlight. He tried not to make even eye contact with Andy.

"So, Timothy. How are you feeling today?"

Tim said nothing. He had so many thoughts, or rather one specific thought, running through his head that he had no desire, possibly no ability, to answer. Andy walked over to the bed and sat down between him and the window.

"I'm not going to disappear even if you refuse to look at me, Timothy. You may not want me here, but that doesn't change anything."

Tim shifted his gaze from Andy to the wall and didn't respond.

"Or... is that what you're afraid of, that I'll disappear and you'll be alone again?"

Tim still didn't answer, but his eyes filled with tears and he tensed noticeably.

"When did he first take you, Timothy?" Andy leaned into his line of sight again. "I'm not going to disappear. I promise that I'm here. You're not alone."

The tears spilled from his eyes, but this time he didn't look away. Instead, his eyes locked with hers as he cried silently.

"When was it, Timothy?" she asked again, her voice soft. "How long?"

"Too long," Tim whispered, the sound still harsh after the abuse of his vocal cords.

"Do you want me to leave?" she asked in the same soft voice.

Tim shook his head.

"Say the words, Timothy. Words help."

Tim shook his head. "Not... enough." He'd shouted and screamed to the nonexistent people outside of his cage, but no one had heard him. Words meant _nothing_... and then, he was back in the dark.

"They do help. We need words to keep us thinking, to keep us from going crazy. When you keep silent, you cut yourself off. Do you _want_ that?"

"I... can't..."

"Can't what, Timothy?"

The tears fell faster and Tim just shook his head. There was too much in his head. Too much of what had happened to him, too much screaming, too much darkness. He closed his eyes, breaking his contact with Andy and shut down.

"Timothy!" For the first time, Andy raised her voice, but it was no good. Tim was already gone. "How long was it?" she asked, her voice soft again as she regarded the motionless body on the bed. "How long does it take to reduce a man to an empty shell?"

"Andy?" the hesitant voice from behind her made her turn to greet Abby.

"He's gone again."

"No miracles?" Abby asked, trying to smile.

Andy sighed. "Unfortunately, miracles only happen rarely... I guess they wouldn't be miracles otherwise. But this is only the beginning. You've drawn him out. It's just the process of showing him that he can _stay_ out and still be safe, still be sane." Andy headed to the door, pausing only to squeeze Abby's shoulder. "He'll get there. Just give him a chance."

Abby nodded and walked back to Tim. She put her arms around him and hugged him tightly. He didn't respond. He had heard what Andy said, but he couldn't answer her question. There were too many questions in need of answers.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

It was a few days later and Abby was in the same place, but it was hard to be with Tim when there seemed to nothing inside anymore. A creak made her turn quickly toward the door as it opened and Gibbs came in. "Abby, why don't you take a break?" he said. It was not really a question.

Abby stood. "Are you sure, Gibbs?"

"Go." Gibbs pointed toward the door.

"Yes, sir." She looked back down at Tim. His eyes were frightened again. "I'll be back, Tim. Don't worry."

Tim's mouth opened, but all that came out was another whispered, "Abby."

"It's okay, Tim. Just relax." Even though he was terrified, Tim made no move to prevent Abby from leaving, but the tears fell again. He looked so broken and beaten, lying there in the bed, that Abby almost stayed, but Gibbs gestured again. She nodded, a little teary herself, and left the room.

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Tim tensed. He was alone. Abby was gone. He was alone. He closed his eyes, shutting out the emptiness.

"McGee." The voice was frustrated and angry, commanding a response.

No. That voice had responsibility with it. He couldn't face it yet. Not yet. It was so dark...

"McGee!" Tim suddenly felt himself being shaken, not violently, but firmly. He opened his eyes, but couldn't face the person holding him. "McGee, look at me!" Another shake. Finally, Tim shifted his eyes onto his boss. "McGee, I know this is hard for you, but we need your help. You can't keep hiding like this. I know you don't want to face what happened, but people are dying out there, and you know something that can help. A bomb went off at the Navy Yard. You knew it was coming, didn't you? That's why you asked about the date when we found you, isn't it?" Gibbs shook him once more.

Tim looked at Gibbs, reluctantly making eye contact. Every inch of him wanted to hide away, but those eyes held his gaze. Still, he couldn't make himself say the words. He just stared with wide, frightened eyes and an expression that made him look about twelve years old. When he was at work, he usually tried to look older than he was. Now, he looked so young, so vulnerable. Gibbs sighed and let go of Tim. He turned to leave.

Tim lay there digesting what he had heard as Gibbs started to leave the room. A bomb. People had died. His pulse sped up as he actually tried to remember. The door was open and Gibbs was halfway out when he heard a soft voice say, "Yes, Boss."

Gibbs turned back quickly. In two strides he was at the bed. "What, McGee?"

"Yes, Boss."

Gibbs watched as Tim's eyes shifted from his gaze to the empty room and back again.

He put his hands on Tim's shoulders again, but this time, it was to remind Tim that he wasn't alone in the room. "Look at me, Tim. Don't look away. You knew that a bomb would go off today?"

Tim swallowed. "Yes, Boss."

"How?"

Tim's eyes flicked away from Gibbs, filling with tears again. His voice was coming back, but it was still very hoarse and cracked. "It was so dark, so dark..."

"No, Tim. Look at me. How did you know that there would be a bomb?"

Tim focused on Gibbs. He started to speak, haltingly, making awkward connections. "I... heard him talking at the house."

"Who, Rollings?"

"Don't know."

Gibbs remembered suddenly that Rollings had been found only after Tim's disappearance. He wouldn't have known the name in any case. "That's okay, Tim. That doesn't matter right now. Who was he talking to?"

"He was on the phone, angry." Tim's narrative suddenly shifted. "We didn't think there'd be anything at that house. One of a million tips. Ziva and I split up. One side and the other side. A superficial search. All alone... in the dark..." he trailed off again.

"Focus, Tim. What did he say?"

"The NCIS investigation ruined the schedule. Too much scrutiny to start. He messed up... by killing the guard at the armory. Everything was wrong, had to be pushed back."

"What had to be pushed back?" Gibbs asked when Tim trailed off again.

"The bombings. Five spaced out over weekly intervals to disguise the target."

"What is the target?"

"I don't know. I don't know. He was angry. He didn't know I was there." He looked fearfully at Gibbs. "I was alone. All alone. Just me, in the dark."

"Don't," Gibbs cautioned. "Did he say what the other targets were? Did he say why?"

"No. All military-related, no specifics." Against his will, his mind jumped ahead to his captivity again and his eyes drifted. "It was so quiet. I shouted... but no one heard. There was no one there. Just me."

"Look at me, Tim. Did he say anything else?"

"He needed a distraction, something to keep us from finding him."

"What was it?"

"Me." Tim's eyes were fixed on Gibbs, but Gibbs could see him starting to fall back into the cycle of his experience.

"How do you know?"

"I started to back away. I didn't dare use the radio." Tim breathing became shallow. "I was trying to be quiet. I thought I was far enough away."

When he didn't go on, Gibbs said, "What happened?"

"It was dark, such a small space. I pounded and pounded."

"No, Tim. Before that. Something happened before that."

"I turned. Then, I fell. I couldn't move. He stood over me. He said... he said..."

"What, Tim?" Gibbs asked.

"He said, 'You'll do.' Black. All black. I woke up. It was black. There was no one there. I shouted. I shouted but no one was there. It was too quiet, no sound... Why didn't you find me?"

Gibbs tightened his grip on Tim's shoulders and shook him very gently, just enough to get him to stop. "Did you see him clearly?"

Tim just stared. Gibbs could see he was losing him again. "Tim, don't do this. You can't give in. We need you too much for you to keep going off like this. You _have_ to focus. I know it was bad in there, but you can't hide from it. Not now. Do you hear me?" No response. Gibbs shook him once more. "I said, do you hear me, McGee."

Tim blinked. Very slowly, he nodded and said, "Yes, Boss."

Gibbs didn't let go of him, but he said, "Good. What did he look like?"

Gibbs could almost see Tim trying to think past his time in the box in order to answer his question.

"Tall. Bald. White." Tim stopped, trying to remember.

It wasn't Rollings, Gibbs realized, thinking of the short, dark-haired man they had in custody. "What was he wearing?"

"A uniform. I remember... two badges."

"What kind of uniform?"

"Camouflage."

"What were the badges?"

"The SEAL trident."

"What about the other?

"I don't know."

"What did it look like?"

Tim's breathing sped up as he tried to remember. He was starting to panic because the memories weren't coming fast enough. Gibbs knew it was a long shot, but it was all he had at the moment.

"McGee, if you saw it again, would you recognize it?"

Tim thought about that, and looked at Gibbs, afraid of his reaction. "I don't know."

"Would you try?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"Good. That's all I ask." Finally, Gibbs released his grip on Tim's shoulders and let him return to his supine position on the bed. He turned toward the door, intending to get Abby when he heard Tim's voice again.

"I can't..." Gibbs turned back and saw Tim staring blankly, his face as empty of expression as it had been before... except for his eyes.

His eyes were filled with dread. "It's still there. I can't... I can't forget." He began to cry, silent tears coursing down his cheeks. "Every, every moment. I was... alone. I can't forget. And I can't..." He couldn't say more. He just stared straight ahead, seeing nothing, reliving the horror.

Gibbs once again turned Tim's face toward his own. The empty eyes focused on his, and Gibbs said gently, "I don't know what to tell you, Tim, but you need to try. Otherwise, this guy is going to get away with it."

Tim didn't reply. He just stared as his tortured mind took shelter behind the emptiness. Gibbs shook his head in renewed frustration but left Tim as he was and went out the door.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

A few hours later, Abby was sitting with Tim, fingers encircling his wrist just above the bandages. She dozed lightly while Tim stared. The door to the room opened suddenly, and Abby sat up to face the intruder.

"Oh, hello, Abby. I-I didn't realize you were still here."

"Ziva. What are you doing here?"

Ziva looked a bit uncomfortable, but shrugged and said, "Visiting. Do you wish to take a break? I'll sit with him for awhile."

Abby nearly refused, but when she met Ziva's eyes, she saw a hint of pleading there. "Okay, I could use a night in my own bed. Just give me a call if you don't want to stay."

"I will." As Abby gathered her things, Ziva stood stiffly by Tim's bed, clearly waiting for her to leave. Abby paused by the door and saw Ziva watching Tim with almost a guilty expression.

"See ya later, Ziva."

"Good night, Abby." After Abby left, Ziva slid into the chair only recently vacated and tried to analyze why she was there. "Do you even see me, McGee?" she said quietly.

Tim stared and didn't reply.

"I-I have gone over what happened at the house many times, McGee. I cannot understand it. I am kind of a fish out of water right now. At least, I'm fairly certain I got that one right. The last person I sat next to like this died. In Mossad, we..." she trailed off, unsure of what to say. That had been a reflex, her training a sure defense against the unknown facing her.

But there was no response. After a few silent minutes, Ziva stood and restlessly began pacing around the room, stopping occasionally to see if there was any change. There never was. Only sheer stubbornness kept her from calling Abby to take over again. She would not give in to that weakness. She would not hide.

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She paced back and forth, her eyes flashing with unexpressed emotion. Tim watched her and he had heard her speak. He was ambivalent about her presence. He knew he was in no danger as long as Ziva was around, but he also knew why she was here, even if she didn't know herself. It took so much effort to break out of his mental cage without falling prey to the memories that threatened to overwhelm his sanity.

"McGee... Tim..."

She had said his name. People rarely did at NCIS. Gibbs and Tony did when the going got rough; Abby did more often, but Ziva had never used his given name... at least not to speak _to_ him.

"I'm so sorry." The same dark eyes that he had seen before stared at him, sparkling with tears she could not shed, not even now.

As he had for Abby, as he had for Gibbs, Tim fought against the darkness and briefly broke free. "I'm alive," he said hoarsely.

Ziva paused midstride and stared at the eyes which were no longer empty. They swirled with a torrent of emotion surpassing even her own, but life _was_ there.

She sat down beside him, his eyes following her every move. He made no effort to actually move himself, but she noticed that he never took his eyes off her.

"Why are you staring at me, McGee?" The more impersonal form of address was back now that she knew he was aware.

For awhile, he didn't say anything. Then, as if mirroring what she felt, his eyes welled up with tears which spilled down his cheeks. "So I don't forget..."

"Forget what?"

"That I'm alive."

Ziva winced inwardly at the reminder of his near miss. She searched her memory for what one said at a time like this. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Yes."

"What's that?"

Tim's face still showed little emotion, but the tears continued to fall. "Touch me."

"What?"

"So I know..."

"Know what?"

"So I know that you're there, that I'm not alone."

Ziva hesitated. These gestures were still foreign to her. By her own choice. But she had become attached to her team in spite of her own best intentions. She didn't want to, but as she looked at her teammate, she saw the desperation in his eyes. Tim would never ask this of her in normal circumstances. He was too intimidated by her. He needed this. Maybe she did as well.

"Please."

Slowly, timidly, Ziva reached out and touched Tim's arm. Immediately, she felt the tension in his body lessen. It hit her hard. Such a simple gesture had such deep effects. With tears threatening to fall from her own eyes, she brushed Tim's away with her other hand.

"What now, McGee?"

Again, a pause, during which she could see the turmoil going on in his mind. Then, he answered, "Just don't leave me alone."

Ziva nodded. "I can do that." She kept her hand on his arm and settled back in the chair.

For the next few hours, they sat in companionable silence. Neither attempted to make conversation, but all the while, both of them had thoughts racing through their minds. Finally, Ziva looked over at Tim. His eyes were still open, still aware.

She decided to risk a question even if it drove him away again. "Why do you hide, McGee?"

Tim blinked and looked at her. He looked down at her hand which had never left his arm. "I'm weak," he whispered.

"No, McGee. You are not weak."

The tears welled up again. She had never seen him cry, but now it was as if all his restraint was gone.

He shook his head slightly. "I am. I... can't... I can't... think about it. I can't... bear it. The darkness." Tremors shook his body. "I was alone. It was so... so empty. All I could do was...scream... try to break out... always failing. No one... nothing to hold onto." She saw his eyes glaze over.

"McGee... Tim. You-you can hold onto me," her own words surprised her. Ziva was equally surprised to find that she meant them. Before she could change her mind, she pulled Tim to her and hugged him tightly. "You are not alone anymore, Tim. You are not in the dark."

Tim's sobs became audible for the first time. He held to her as tightly as he could and didn't let go. His hoarse voice only lent an added sense of anguish to his cries.

"Why me? Why me?" he cried, his voice muffled as he buried his face in her shoulder.

"I do not know, McGee," Ziva said. She was frightened by this display and wanted nothing more than to break away and leave the room. However, that would be a sign of weakness and a blow to Tim. She couldn't do that. "We will find him and ask him." Her voice left no doubt as to how she would go about getting that information.

Finally, to Ziva's relief and very slight disappointment, Tim let her go. She gently eased him back down onto the bed and replaced her hand on his arm.

"Thank you, Ziva."

"For what, McGee?"

"For being here." A small smile, so brief that she might have imagined it, passed over his face. "For not leaving."

She smiled in return. "You are welcome."

Tim sighed and his eyes closed. In seconds, he seemed to be asleep. She didn't know what his mind would be like when he woke, but she was satisfied that he was still inside, that her moment of incompetence had not killed one of her teammates. With her hand still lightly touching his arm, Ziva leaned against Tim's bed and fell asleep as well.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Again, the deadline passed. A bomb exploded outside the Bethesda Naval Hospital. Luckily, no one was killed this time. The bomb had been planted in another SUV parked in the hospital staff parking lot. A few doctors sustained minor injuries from flying debris, but no one was seriously injured. However, the new attack, with no new leads, gave increased urgency to the investigators. Knowing the targets were military was all well and good, but DC was full of military targets, all of which had security, but obviously, this person was getting around that security... and he appeared to be a SEAL.

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Tim awoke and sensed two people in the room. Both were silent, and only one was touching him. Ziva. He was afraid to open his eyes to see who else was there standing so quietly. Suddenly, the hand disappeared from his arm as Ziva woke and turned to confront the intruder.

"Gibbs!"

"Good morning, Ziva. You're late."

Groggily, she glanced at her watch and jumped up. "I am sorry, Gibbs."

"Tony's on his way to investigate the latest bombing."

"Another one?"

"Yes. Outside the Naval Hospital. No deaths this time, but it was a larger explosion. Get going."

"On my way." Ziva left quickly, not even stopping to say good-bye. She was embarrassed both by the fact that Gibbs had seen her holding onto Tim and that she had overslept.

Gibbs watched her go and then turned back to Tim who had not yet opened his eyes. He had brought the various Navy badges that Tim might have seen on his unknown assailant. To be honest, he didn't have much hope for Tim's memory; the trauma was probably still too great. This case was grating on him though. Rollings had resisted every attempt to get him to talk. He knew too well that NCIS was stuck and depending upon his confession. Even the usually reliable Gibbs stare down hadn't shaken him. He needed something and Tim was his only lead. They couldn't go tracking down every Marine, past and present who might have a screw loose.

"McGee."

Tim didn't open his eyes. He heard the voice again, but he didn't want to acknowledge it.

"McGee, another bomb went off, this time at a hospital. How many more times does this have to happen before you wake up?"

_No. No more. I don't want to face it. I don't want to go back. There is too much. I can't. I'm weak._ Tim fought against what he knew had to be done. Suddenly, a stinging slap came out of the darkness. His eyes opened against his will.

"McGee," Gibbs said, and as soon as he saw the eyes open, he displayed the various badges. "Which one?"

For a long time, Tim just stared. Gibbs wasn't sure if he was even looking at them. He was about to yell again, but he stopped as Tim pointed to one.

"Not this one," he said quietly. Gibbs was disappointed. He had expected an identification, not elimination. Then, he paused and saw that Tim was still looking.

"Not this one," he repeated, pointing to another badge. Gibbs nodded. This might be the long way, but if it worked, he wouldn't complain. Over the next hour, badge after badge was eliminated. Every time Gibbs was ready to give up, Tim would point to another and repeat the same words. Finally, there were only three left: the Expeditionary Warfare Specialist badge, the Explosive Ordnance Disposal Badge, and the Fleet Marine Force badge.

Tim stared for a long time at the three badges. They were similar in shape, but the designs were very different. This was so hard, to engage his mind in such a way as to recall these little details. Trembling, he point to the Fleet Marine Force badge and repeated once more, "Not this one."

"Are you sure, McGee?" Gibbs asked. He had seen Tim's hesitation.

"Yes."

Two left. He scrutinized them for a long time, but neither one was exactly right. He looked from one to the other and back again.

"Well?" Gibbs asked impatiently.

Tim pointed, even more hesitantly, at the Explosive Ordnance Disposal badge. "Like this, but not."

"What do you mean?"

Tim merely repeated, "Like this, but not."

Gibbs looked at Tim in annoyance. That was not helpful, but maybe it could be. He pulled out a pen. "How is it not?"

Unconsciously, Tim reached out for the pen before remembering his damaged hands. He looked down at them in horror, as if seeing them for the first time.

Gibbs squeezed his shoulder supportively. "Just tell me, McGee. I'll do my best to draw it correctly."

Tim tore his gaze away from his hands and to the page again. "A star. Two stars."

"Where?" The pen hovered over the page.

"On the shield and above."

That pricked Gibbs' own memory and he expertly added a star on the shield and then another star embedded in a small wreath just above the shield. "Like this, McGee?"

Tim nodded and actually smiled. It was a smile of relief more than an expression of happiness, but it was a smile nonetheless.

"Are you certain?"

Tim nodded. "The shield, the lightning, the wreaths, the bomb. All of it."

"Okay." Gibbs circled the modified badge. It was the Master EOD badge. That made a lot of sense now that he thought of it. Rollings was the accomplice, the one who stole the stuff this new mystery man needed. The only problem was that Rollings had screwed up. He had killed someone, left a trail. How this would affect the timing of the bombings was anyone's guess, as was the actual target.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Gibbs' musings were interrupted by the door opening. A nurse came in and was surprised by Gibbs' presence.

"Oh, hello, sir," she said.

Gibbs looked up at her. She looked young and intimidated. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm just here to take Mr. McGee to get his casts removed."

"So soon?" Gibbs asked.

"Oh, yes. It's important that his muscles don't atrophy from lack of use. The casts are going to be replaced with soft splints that will allow for some movement. That way he can start his physical therapy."

"Therapy on his hands?"

More comfortable now, she smiled at his incredulity. "Sir, think about how often you use your hands every day. Think about the dexterity you need just to put on your clothes in the morning. Having functional hands is vital for everyone, but from what I understand, Mr. McGee is a computer expert."

"Of sorts."

"How could he continue that job without his hands?"

The simple nature of the question hit home for Gibbs. What _could_ Tim do without the use of his hands? He looked over at the agent and saw that his gaze had shifted to his hands again.

"If you don't mind, sir, I'll just be moving him."

Tim's head lifted and he turned terrified eyes onto Gibbs. These people were going to be touching his _hands_. They would hurt him! Gibbs understood his fears as easily as if he had spoken them. Part of him really wanted to take this information and go back to work, but one look at Tim's face told him that Tim needed someone he knew. Right now, that meant Gibbs.

"Could I come with you? So that McGee won't be alone?"

The nurse cocked her head to one side. "You aren't family, are you?"

"No. I'm his boss, but he knows me, which is more than I can say for you." The words were blunt but without malice.

"True enough, sir. Follow me."

As she pushed Tim down the hall, Gibbs walked with them and noticed with interest that Tim had not yet retreated. He was still there, watching what was happening. He was still afraid, yes, but he wasn't hiding. Not yet.

When they got into the cast room, Tim took in the strangers and more importantly, the cast saw. His eyes got wide, but he didn't move. He looked at Gibbs, his eyes pleading to be saved from this, whatever it was.

"Dr. Samson?" Gibbs said, quickly.

The doctor turned with the saw in his hand. "Yes?"

"Would you let McGee see the saw before you use it on his hands?"

Dr. Samson looked over at Tim and saw his terror. "Yes, of course. Timothy, I'm going to be using this saw to take off the hard casts on your hands. The blade isn't sharp." He demonstrated on his own hand. "When I turn it on, it oscillates side-to-side and will only cut the casts, not your hands." Again, he demonstrated. "As you can tell, it's noisy, but it's not dangerous. However, you do need to stay still while I'm cutting the casts, so that I don't make any mistakes. Afterward, we'll be replacing the casts with splints to keep you from moving your hands too much. You got all that, Timothy?"

Tim stared at his hands and nodded. When Dr. Samson turned on the saw, he flinched, but didn't move away. As soon as the saw began to cut through his cast, tears rolled down his cheeks, but still he didn't move. Gibbs put his hand on Tim's shoulder and felt a slight easing of tension.

Tim squeezed his eyes tight shut as he felt the vibrations from the saw. It was only Gibbs' calm presence that kept him from abandoning this attempt to stay in the real world. It was so frightening. It was so _hard_ to stay, to face the fact that something so terrible had been done to him. The memory of that time was like a black hole in his mind, ready to pull him in at any moment if he crossed that vital boundary. _...the Schwarzchild radius_, he said to himself. The vibrations shifted to his other hand. It took a lot of effort to keep himself from flexing his left hand. He was on pain medications, but there was a dull, padded sort of pain that he could feel at every moment, and he knew that he would feel it more sharply if he moved. All the while, Gibbs' hand was on his shoulder. Gibbs never left, even after the saw had been turned off and Tim felt dull pains in his hands as the splints were put in place.

"You can open your eyes now, Timothy," Dr. Samson said. "It's over."

Tim didn't move. His eyes were tight shut; only the presence of a tear tracking down his cheek indicated his feelings.

"McGee, it's okay. They're done." Gibbs looked at Tim's hands. They were still completely covered by bandages. The only difference was that the ends of his fingers stuck out of the splints. "You can't see it, McGee. They're still covered."

Then, Tim opened his eyes, staring at the soft splints that had replaced the hard casts. He hated this, every minute of it. He was swiftly nearing his threshold of tolerance, especially now that he was being forced to confront what he had done... to himself. No one had hurt him, except for him. Those dead weights currently laying on his lap were _his_ handiwork, no one else's.

"I did this," he whispered, so softly that no one heard him.

"What was that, McGee?" Gibbs asked.

Tim cleared his throat and winced. "_I_... _I did this_," he said. "_I did this_." His breathing sped up and he began to cry again, closing his eyes against the sight now burned indelibly into his brain. How could he have done this? What if it happened again? What could he do to stop it? He could have _died_! Why was he back there? How had that man found him? Tim's thoughts began racing at the speed of light, pulling him interminably back into his prison. He was gasping for breath and aware only of the fear, the absolute terror he felt at being alone again. _Why? Why? Why?_ He couldn't stop his brain and he was heading to an overload. He had forgotten where he was, that he was safe in the hospital, that anyone else was with him. As far as Tim was concerned there was only the darkness, the pain and the certainty of an approaching death, alone and unknown. "I _did_ this to _myself_! It's my fault! It's _my_ _fault!_" Tim said again, his words barely intelligible to the others in the room. "Let me out! Let me out!" Tim began to struggle. His first real independent movements since they had pulled him out of his cage. "No! No! I won't go in! Let me go! Let me go!" Tim felt the restraining arms and thought only of the fear. He couldn't even hear the voices shouting at him.

Then, one voice came clear through the roaring in his ears. "Tim, snap out of it!"

Tim's eyes flew open, wild and crazed. "Gibbs! Boss! Help me! Get me out!" He felt completely lost, trapped in his memories. It had happened before, but he'd always simply shut down. This time, he couldn't shut down; instead, he was reacting in the only way his mind could handle it, by freaking out.

"You _are_ out, McGee! You've been _out_ for days!"

Slowly, ever so slowly, the meaning of the words Gibbs had spoken penetrated the panic that had wrapped Tim in its embrace. He tried to slow down his breathing. Tears still poured down his face as he continued to cry. He was only vaguely aware of Gibbs sitting next to him and putting a comforting arm around his shoulders. He began to speak, choking out the words, needing to extract the poison circulating in his head. "I woke up there... in the... the dark. At first... I wasn't even afraid. I was nervous. I was confused, but I... I wasn't _scared_. I figured it was just a closet or something..." Tim trailed off as the tears overcame his ability to speak for a moment. "...someone would find me. It wouldn't last long." Again, he had to stop for the tears. "He took my watch. I didn't know... it seemed like forever and no time at all. ...then, I was afraid. I tried to break down the walls. I searched and searched for an entrance." Tim had to stop again. He started to hyperventilate. Gibbs kept a tight grip around his shoulders. After a few more minutes, Tim began again, speaking faster and faster, the words crowding in on each other. "The ceiling seemed weaker than the rest. I thought maybe I could break out myself. I shouted. I thought maybe someone was outside listening. I thought that they could hear me. I begged them to let me out. I couldn't stop shouting. I couldn't stop. I couldn't... it was so quiet when I stopped. There was no time. There was just me. Just me in the dark. I couldn't tell if my eyes were open or not. I... couldn't stop. I couldn't... breathe. I couldn't... think. I was all alone. No one knew where I was. No one had found me. No one could save me. I would be here forever. I would just die all alone in the dark. All alone. No one knew; you weren't there. No one was there. It was just me, just me, alone... I shouted, even when I couldn't make anymore noise. It was so quiet. I was so tired...just, pounding, pounding. So quiet."

Tim broke down crying again. Gibbs didn't speak, his intention to go and work on the case long since forgotten. At first, somehow, the more Tim spoke, the more connected, the more _sane_ he seemed... in spite of his sobbing. But the sobbing took on a hysterical edge as Tim began to speak again, his voice higher-pitched.

"Then, there was noise. Noise that I wasn't making. I saw light. I saw people. I wasn't dead. I almost forgot what it was like. I was alive, but out there was the need to speak, to tell you what I knew, to be out, to be alive, to face what had happened." Tim looked at his hands again. "To face the fact that _I_ hurt _myself_... that all this was... was _my_ fault." He began to sob again, the tears threatening to send him over the edge again. "It's... It's not enough... not to be out. I'm... I can't..." The words, disjointed and meaningless by this time, finally petered out and Tim stopped trying to speak. He just cried, all thought of independent movement lost, all coherency gone. All that remained was the agony, mental and physical.

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Gibbs never turned a hair. He simply kept his arm around Tim's shoulders as the sobs shook his body. The desire to leave was gone as if it had never been there in the first place. He had raised his eyes to Dr. Samson once and told him clearly that Tim needed this, although Dr. Samson more than likely could see that for himself. Abby might have been a better person, more comforting, less confrontational, less threatening, but Gibbs was the one who was there, and he would be the one to get Tim through this, whatever it took... and it took a long time.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Tim opened his eyes. He was back in his room. He didn't remember going back. The last thing he remembered... his eyes dropped down to his hands. Somehow, the splints didn't seem so horrifying as they had before... whenever that was. ...there it was... lurking in the shadows of his mind, the memory that threatened to destroy his sanity every time he remembered it. Tim felt himself start to shake. _No! I can't do that again._ He whimpered and struggled to push the memory away, vaguely aware that he was only postponing the inevitable. It was just that, for the moment, he was thinking clearly. More clearly than he'd been able to think since... before... before... _no. I'm not thinking about it._ A shiver of fear ran down his spine. He realized that he hadn't been blinking as his eyes started to water. He hadn't even been seeing. He blinked. There was so much else that he needed to think about. There was more that he'd blocked out. Those badges, for one thing. ...but could he even think with that... that time lurking in his head, like a monster waiting to snatch up the unwary?

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"Okay, so where does that leave us, exactly?" Tony asked wearily. He yawned and rubbed his eyes. It was nearing midnight and they'd all been up early with the second bombing. Now, he sat at his desk, staring at his computer screen blankly. "We have two bombings and can expect three more, if McGee is to be believed. We don't know who did it or where he's going to strike next or even what his actual target is."

"We know that it is related to whatever Rollings was doing. Rollings must have been his accomplice," Ziva said. "Rollings stole the C4 with the intention of handing it off to this man. We know that he is a SEAL and also has extensive knowledge of explosives. That would be a fairly short list, would it not, Gibbs?"

Gibbs, looking completely unfazed by the late night, as usual, appeared momentarily distracted. He looked at Ziva as if just noticing she was there, but he still answered her question. "It's a non-existent list, Ziva."

"Non-existent?"

"No one that meets those criteria matches McGee's description of his captor."

"Is McGee certain of the description? He is not... all there right now, is he?"

"He's clear enough," Gibbs said shortly. "I trust him."

"As do I, but these are not normal circumstances, Gibbs," Ziva needlessly reminded him.

"If we don't accept McGee's description, then we have to scrap everything we think we know about this guy. We can't trust that he saw the SEAL trident, nor that he noticed the EOD badge. He may not even have been in camouflage, for that matter. Let's not make more problems for ourselves than we already have." Gibbs suddenly felt very tired. He knew he should just send everybody home. They weren't going to get anymore done falling asleep at their desks.

"But, Gibbs, don't we already have a problem? If Probie's description doesn't match anyone in the database, how can we trust that he got it right?"

That was a good question, but what was the answer?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Two days later..._

His dreams were of darkness, no that wasn't it. It was more than darkness... blackness, complete and utter blackness, like the darkness of a cave... only this cave had no escape. The only sound was an interminable pounding and tortured breathing. Death was stalking him, waiting to pounce. No! He couldn't let himself go like that!

"Not yet! I'm not ready!"

"Tim! Wake up!"

Tim struggled to obey the command. The waking world couldn't be any worse than this dream world. It was the hardest thing to do, pulling his mind out of the depths. It was a nightmare, but it was also real life.

"Tim, come on! Wake up!" Now, the voice was accompanied by gentle shaking. He fought to dispel the blackness... and opened his eyes. "Oh, thank goodness!" Abby said. "I thought you might just disappear again. Gibbs told me that you were talking." She looked so hesitant, so worried.

"Hi," he said, quietly. It wasn't the most exciting line he could have used, but it was all he felt confidently capable of managing.

"Hi," Abby responded quietly. "How are you feeling?"

He shrugged. Inside, Abby was celebrating. She hadn't been there to see his frantic struggles. As far as she was concerned this was all new, and he had _moved_. He was really awake.

"That's not an answer, Tim."

Tim opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. He closed it, swallowed and tried again. "They... they took off my casts."

"Yes, I can see that." Abby hesitated, then asked, "Can you tell me what happened?"

Tim's eyes widened. He shook his head violently. "No!" He relived those moments every time he closed his eyes. He couldn't do it again, not even with Abby... especially not with Abby. If he told her, then he'd have to see her and know that what had happened to him was going through _her_ mind as well as his own.

"Okay, okay. Calm down, Tim. We don't have to if you're not ready."

"No," he whispered, ashamed of his outburst. He looked down at his hands. "I... I'm sorry... Abby."

"No, don't apologize, Tim." Abby brought her head down low enough that Tim had to meet her eyes. "I understand."

He looked up and started to speak again, but the door behind them opened, revealing no one other than Tony.

"Hey, Probie! Nice to see you focusing again. How go the boxing gloves?"

Somehow, Tony's teasing voice, his sarcastic questions, made Tim feel better. He had expected to feel worse, to be annoyed like he always was when Tony talked down to him. This time, however, he focused on the fact that Tony was actually there. He didn't have to be; visiting wasn't required, and yet, there he was. He smiled.

"Hi, Tony." Tim looked down at his hands... very briefly. "The gloves are gone... just splints now." His gaze shifted from Tony to the window. There was sunlight out there. "When can I leave?"

"Leave? The hospital, you mean?" Abby asked in surprise.

"You've just rejoined the land of the living, Probie," Tony said and then regretted his choice of words as Tim winced but continued to stare out the window. "I don't know that you'll be getting out anytime soon."

"I don't... I want to get out of this room." Tim stopped speaking abruptly and took a couple of deep breaths. It would not do for him to start panicking again. "I... I want to help... on the case."

"You already have, McGee."

"Not enough."

"Why do you say that?"

Tim swallowed and pointed a bandaged hand at Tony's face, finally making eye contact. "You look worried... you're being_ nice_." Again, Tim had to stop speaking and his eyes closed, trying to forget how worried Tony had sounded when they had first pulled him out, how horrified when he had seen what Tim had done to his own hands. They had been so... _mangled_. How could he have done that? What kind of twisted psychotic person did that kind of thing to himself? He could still feel the incredible agony course through him every time his fist had connected with the wall. Once or twice, he had even noticed the blood as it made tracks down his arm. Every time he had dropped his hand to his lap, he had wondered whether or not he had the energy to lift up again... and every time, the force with which he had hit the wall surprised him. It was like an electric current flowing through his body, a jolt showing him that he still lived. That was all he'd had. Agony to take the place of life.

"Calm down, Tim." Suddenly, Abby's arms were around him. He noticed, with a measure of surprise, that he was hyperventilating and that his cheeks were wet.

"Don't worry, McGee. We'll find the guy. We're all very interested in educating him on the... fallacy involved in attacking Abby's geek." Tony was more worried than he would admit about the look in Tim's eyes. He wanted to throttle the man who had put that look there. He and Ziva had privately discussed it and decided that Tony could take from the chest up and she'd take from the chest down. The only caveat was that neither of them were allowed to kill him for the first day.

The tears were still flowing, but Tim seemed reestablish himself in the present day. He nodded. Tony couldn't help but notice that Tim refused to look at his hands anymore than was required. Gibbs hadn't said anything, but Tony was sure something had happened when it had taken him so long to get back to headquarters. He didn't think that joking around would be the right thing to do at this moment; so he fell back on simply speaking, trusting his words to make sense and mean something.

"McGee, I promise, we'll figure out what happened and we'll keep you in the loop. As soon as the quacks let you out of here, we'll get you set up again." He ignored Abby's glare and continued, "Besides, I'm sure that something will go wrong with the computers if you're gone too long. With Gibbs always around and the periodic appearances of Mann, we'll need you there to keep them from single-handedly destroying all our evidence." Tony was rewarded for that quip by a ghost of a smile. "Abby, we have work."

"I _know_, Tony. I'll be right out." She still looked a little peeved. Tony nodded and smiled.

"See ya around, Probie."

The smile became a little more solid. "You know where I'll be."

Tony grinned. "I'm like the Shadow, McGee. I _always_ know where you are." Then, he mimed sweeping a long cloak after him as he sauntered out the door.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Don't yell at him, Abby." Tim said, as soon as the door closed.

"What?" This amount of coherency from Tim took her completely by surprise.

"He's just trying to make me feel better."

"Is he succeeding?" she asked, knowing full well what the answer was.

"Not by what he says, but by the fact that he's trying." Tim shivered again and looked out the window. "I must look pretty bad for him to be so nice... I must have... my _hands_..." He shuddered once more and felt a warm hand on his arm, grounding him, giving him the strength to spit out the words. "...just don't... make him feel like he failed. Please?"

"I won't." Tim still stared at her. "I _promise_. I'll admit that I was going to, but I won't, just for you."

"Thanks."

"But Tony is right about one thing."

"What's that?"

"I have to go to work." Abby watched as the fear welled up and then was forced back down. "I'll come and see you later, Tim."

Tim blinked very slowly and then nodded. "Later."

Abby leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Yes. Later. Bye, Tim."

"Bye... Abby."

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Tony braced himself for... something. He wasn't sure what Abby had been so annoyed about, but there was no doubt that she had been. So he was braced.

"Let's go, Tony. We'll be late!" she announced. Her tone unaffected. Her eyes as friendly as they had been at his arrival.

"Uh... right, Abs. Let's go."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

The fatigues were long gone. It had been a mistake to wear them. It had been a bigger mistake to allow that NCIS agent to live. He probably should have simply killed him, but at the time, as surprised as he had been by their meeting, that Agent McGee had seemed like an answer to the dilemma Rollings had created. NCIS wasn't supposed to be poking around until after the first bomb. They weren't supposed to know that the theft and the bombings were related so quickly. Agent McGee wasn't supposed to be in any condition to tell them _anything_ about him. Well, the journalists had been overzealous as usual. Once, that would have been an annoyance to him, but now, he knew most of what NCIS had discovered, and, to his surprise and relief, some of it was wrong. Not a lot, but possibly enough.

However, as much of a relief as it may seem for Agent McGee to have gotten the details wrong, there was still the worry that perhaps he would remember those details, or that he _had_ remembered them already. He was under guard at the hospital. That much was obvious, as he had already tried to get inside. His only allowed visitors were his team. He would have to wait until McGee got out to see what he knew. That would be easy enough. One glance between them... and then, one shot between the eyes if he remembered. If not, his trauma, which was obvious from the articles, would continued to be a useful distraction.

"Are you lost, sir?"

Startled out of his momentary reverie, he looked down at a young student. Seemingly completely at ease, he smiled. "No, midshipman. At least, I don't think so. I have an appointment at the Nimitz Library at noon."

"Civilian?"

"Yes." He smiled again.

"First time on campus?"

"Yes." The visitor's badge, which he had quickly altered upon joining the tour group was prominently displayed.

"Nimitz Library is that way, sir." The student pointed in the opposite direction to the one he'd been walking.

"Well, I suppose it's a good thing I ran into you, then. Thank you, midshipman."

"You're welcome, sir."

He walked off in the indicated direction, but as soon as he was out of sight, did an about-face and resumed his original path, only stopping briefly beside the famous Herndon Monument. He grinned sardonically at the obelisk and then leaned against it, by all appearances merely balancing himself as he examined his shoes. The small gray lump now attached to the monument was invisible unless one knew it was there. Satisfied, he straightened and headed back toward Gate 1, rejoining his tour group just as it finished the tour. He casually fingered the trident under his lapel, the only outward indication of his inner nervousness.

As the chattering group made its way off the campus, he whispered quietly to himself, "In times of war or uncertainty there is a special breed of warrior ready to answer our Nation's call. A common man with uncommon desire to succeed. Forged by adversity, he stands alongside America's finest special operations forces to serve his country, the American people, and protect their way of life. I am that man."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Timothy? Agent McGee? Still with me?"

Tim blinked and turned to his visitor. He had been wandering through the hinterlands of consciousness, not quite asleep, not quite awake. It was a shock to be brought back so suddenly.

"I think I lost you for a few minutes there," the man smiled, showing no hint of discomfort. Tim gave a smile that probably looked more like a grimace and turned back to the window. "Now, I know you don't like this, Timothy, but you're going to be responsible for doing some of these exercises on your own time. You need to pay attention."

Then, Tim remembered what had been happening. This man was his physical therapist, David something-or-other. Hand therapy... to undo the damage he had done. Andy would be coming in after this.

"Timothy!"

With great effort, Tim wrenched his eyes away from the window and back onto his bandaged hands. The pain medication was very effective, but he could still see them, still feel the pain...

"Okay, maybe this is too much, too soon," David said, carefully lowering Tim's left hand back to his lap. "I'll come by again tomorrow and we'll try again. You alright with that?"

Tim thought that a couple of weeks ago he'd have been embarrassed by having his discomfort so easily observed by a stranger. Now, however, he felt only relief at being able to put off looking at what had happened. That relief died quickly at David's next words.

"I need to change the dressing on your hands anyway and check for any signs of infection. We may as well do that now."

"N-now?"

"You don't have to look if you don't want to, Timothy, but I assure you, you don't want to risk infection."

"No." That was true. That would only extend his discomfort.

"Do you want to close your eyes?"

Tim didn't answer, but simply screwed his eyes closed. David smiled in understanding even though Tim couldn't see it and began to carefully remove the splints and the bandages. Actually, he was glad Tim wasn't looking. The stitches were still there to show all the places the surgeons had been required to engage in delicate reconstruction of his crushed knuckles, the broken metacarpal on both hands. David shook his head in amazement that someone could cause this kind of damage to himself. Thankfully, there was no sign of infection and with luck, Tim would get back full use his hands, but it would take a long time. He turned away from Tim briefly to get the new bandages from his kit. When he turned back, Tim's eyes were open. He looked like he was going to be sick.

"Deep breath, Tim," David said. Tim didn't move, didn't breath, deeply or otherwise. He just stared at his hands, his face pale, sweat beading on his forehead and a tension so deep that he was shaking. Casually, David grabbed an emesis basin and held it at the ready. Tim had been on an IV thus far, but one should always be ready. Tim swallowed convulsively, just staring at the black sutures covering both hands.

"He... he didn't do this."

That Tim could speak at all in this state was a shock, that he was more or less coherent was stunning.

"Who?"

"He didn't... I did. This is what I did. He didn't hurt me... at all." Tim swallowed again. "It was... me. It was all... me." That admission apparently put him over the edge and he leaned forward retching loudly. David was there instantly, holding Tim up, keeping his hands motionless, making sure the basin was available. As he had thought, Tim didn't actually bring anything up, but the dry heaves left him weak and sobbing.

"There now; it's okay. You're fine. It's completely normal," David said, speaking calmly and slowly. He kept up a continuous flow of comforting words as Tim's sobs and heaves decreased in intensity. "Let it all out. That's good. You're just fine." When the heaves finally ceased, he leaned a shuddering and weak Tim back onto the bed. "Now, just keep your eyes closed and we'll finish up here in a flash. That's right. Just rest." As quickly as he dared, David reapplied the dressing. The splints were back on in fewer than ten minutes. "All done now, Timothy. You can open your eyes." For a few seconds, David didn't think he'd open them at all. He was afraid that this had put him over the edge again, but finally, Tim's eyes opened slowly and he stared fixedly at the ceiling. He didn't say a word.

"Andy should be here soon. Will you be okay until she gets here?"

Tim said nothing.

David nodded. "Okay, I'll just wait here, then." He took his time packing up his stuff and then settled down in a chair to wait for Andy's arrival.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was bad luck. That was all it was. The bomb was set to go off during class, not during break, for a reason. No witnesses, just an explosion, causing terror and confusion, causing questions. Why was this blown up? There was a student, a midshipman second class, late for a seminar, running by who leapt onto the narrow lip around the obelisk in a minuscule shortcut. It was sheer luck that he wasn't killed. The explosion destroyed the Herndon Monument, and the obelisk itself blocked the student from the brunt of the blast. Only the brunt, however. He was knocked off his feet and sent flying, along with other pieces of the memorial. Two seconds earlier and he would have been right over the bomb when it went off. Two seconds later and he would have been safe, a little shaken but uninjured. Bad luck.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

"This is a terrible attack on the campus. The Herndon Monument has been around for years. Everyone visits it."

"Everyone?" Tony asked, looking up from his camera.

"It's where we hold the 'plebes-no-more' ceremony every year." At the blank expressions, Lt. Lewiston elaborated. "The freshman class has to climb the greased obelisk without using ropes and put a midshipman hat on the top."

"Greased?"

"With about 200 pounds of lard. It's a tradition."

"Interesting tradition," Tony said. "I _love_ the Navy." He smiled widely and then returned to his photos.

Ziva put some detritus in an evidence bag.

"Is this related to those other bombings?" Lewiston asked Gibbs.

"It's possible," Gibbs said shortly and walked over to Ziva. "What did you find?"

"Stuff for Abby. It's some paper. It may be nothing more than litter, but..."

"Every little bit helps," Tony said. "I got some of the bomb here, Boss."

Gibbs knelt beside it as Tony took another photo.

"It's got to be the same guy," Tony said in a low voice. "I mean, this is the third bombing on a Navy-related target since we pulled McGee out of that box. That can't be a coincidence."

"I know." He turned back to Lewiston. "How is the injured student?"

"Well, this was a harsh lesson against running late. It's too soon to tell what will happen. Oh, he'll survive, but being hit by granite shrapnel tore up his back and his legs pretty badly." Lewiston's eyes hardened. "Why is this man targeting the Navy?"

"We don't know yet."

"Figure it out, Agent Gibbs. That boy was lucky he didn't get killed by the explosion. It shouldn't even have gotten on campus. We're checking our security tapes and we'll forward them all to you, but I want your assurance that this is not going to happen again."

Gibbs locked eyes with the lieutenant. "We _will_ find him. He's already managed to maim or kill four people. I'd like the list not to get any bigger."

"Good. Thank you, Agent Gibbs. We will compile all our video and get you copies before the day is out."

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Well?" Gibbs asked impatiently. It was hours later. Gibbs had come back and put Abby right to work, pulling her off of her other analyses. There were too many attacks on college campuses across the country as it was. The Naval Academy was supposed to be secure.

"Well, what, Gibbs?" Abby asked her eyes wide and questioning, although a smile quirked the edges of her lips.

It was good to see that side of her back. She'd been a little down ever since Tim had disappeared. His reappearance hadn't helped matters all that much.

"Do you have anything?"

"Would you be here if I didn't?"

"Abby!"

"The bomb used C-4, as I'm sure you were aware, and it's the same batch. This is the same guy, Gibbs."

"Good work, Abby."

"...but that's not all."

Gibbs turned around, halfway between Abby and the door. She paused, her sense of the dramatic keeping her silent.

"You have something else?"

"Only what could be our first clue to this guy's identity... if it's not just junk, of course. But then, I don't see how it could be. There's residue from the C-4 on it, as if it had enclosed the bomb or something. So, I'm pretty sure our psycho put it there. You know, Gibbs, psycho really doesn't even come close to describing this..."

"Abby!"

"Look here, my noble leader!" Abby whirled around and brought up a screen. "Now, Ziva found all these little scraps of paper and I thought, 'well, surely they're just trash' but _au contraire_. They were a single sheet of paper with writing on them." She pushed a few keys. "Now, I've only managed to fit a few together. This is not quite as bad as that exploding suitcase we got a couple of years ago, but bad enough."

Gibbs looked at the screen. The scraps had writing on them, yes, but how could she tell the way they fit together? "Is this all?"

"No, of course not. I got Ziva in here helping me for a little while. Remember, she said she was good at puzzles. She wasn't kidding either. She just sat there and start to assemble the pieces. Of course, there are holes. There's no way we got all the paper and I'm sure quite a bit of it was incinerated, but..."

"Abby!"

"Okay, okay. Here's what we've found so far." She pushed a few more keys and brought up an image of imperfectly assembled scraps which read,

_I wi ever qu t. I pe re and thri adv ty. My me to be physic ha er and m ally stronge han my emies._

"Do you see it, Gibbs?" Abby asked, intently. "It took me a few minutes and a little searching, but I saw it before Ziva did. ...of course, it's not her country; so I suppose she's excused for not knowing. Do you see it?"

Gibbs squinted. He hated it when Abby did this, and he hated even more when he didn't follow it.

"Here, I'll show you!" Abby pushed another key and brought up the same image but with the letters filled in:

_I will never quit. I persevere and thrive on adversity. My Nation expects me to be physically harder and mentally stronger than my enemies._

"The motto of the SEALs," Gibbs said in surprise.

"Exactly. It's only a snippet of it, but I'd guess that the rest of it is on the paper I still have to sort through."

"Has Ducky seen this?"

"No. No dead bodies this time around, remember?"

"Show him. What's the good of him having that degree if he doesn't use it?"

"It doesn't make him more all-knowing."

"That's only because he's too close to that mark as it is," Gibbs said and smiled briefly. "Get him!" he shouted as he left.

Abby looked after Gibbs with a grin on her face. They were going to get this scumbag. She tasted the word... _scumbag_. Not quite strong enough. She might have to resort to swearing to really encompass the sheer amount of loathing she wished to express.

"Ducky?" she said, connecting to Autopsy.

"Hello, my dear. What does the wonderful world of forensics have for me now?"

"Our honored leader has instructed me to request your insight on a piece of evidence."

"What kind of insight?"

"I want you to look at some paper left at the scene."

"Paper? How does _that_ require my expertise? Oh, I have heard about people being killed with nothing more than a small piece of paper and drinking straw, but that hardly..."

Abby had begun working as Ducky began to speak. She managed to place two more pieces of paper and noticed a partial print on them. "Yes!"

"...I know. It is quite stunning."

"Just get up here as soon as you can, Duckman!"

"On my way, Abigail."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

"I just wanted to warn you."

"Thanks, David. That's surprising, but I suppose it shouldn't be. People react to trauma in different ways. It's natural that he'd want to avoid seeing the evidence of his confinement."

"But to be blaming himself for it..."

"Yeah, that's different," Andy said and sighed. Tim was a bit of a puzzle for her, not to mention the fact that his frightened gaze pulled at her heartstrings. She squared her shoulders and walked into the room, putting on her most comforting expression. As soon as she got a look at Tim, she knew that she needn't have bothered. Tim's eyes were open, but he wasn't looking at anything, although his face was turned toward the window again.

"Timothy? Can I talk to you again?"

Tim didn't respond. He kept staring blankly out the window.

Andy sat down next to the bed and spoke again. "David told me what happened. It's perfectly normal to be shocked by what you saw."

No response.

"What I don't understand is why you say that it's your fault. From what I understand, Timothy, you were locked in a room and were trying to get out. That doesn't sound to me like it was your fault."

Tim stirred a little, but didn't shift his gaze or make a sound.

"How did you get in the box, Timothy?"

No question. Tim tensed. He was listening even if he didn't want to speak.

"There are a lot of holes in what you've told your friends. So far, no one is pushing, and I'm not pushing either, but what you've managed to relate leaves out quite a few details. Why is that, Timothy?"

Tim blinked. For the first time since Andy had entered the room, he blinked.

"Do you not want them to find the man who did this to you?"

"He didn't... do anything... to me," Tim whispered quietly. He didn't look away from the window.

"Yes, he did, Timothy. He put you in that box. He somehow subdued you to the point that you were helpless to prevent your capture. Or are you going to tell me that you got in there of your own accord?"

"I didn't understand," Tim said, softly. "He disappeared. He was right there. I backed away. I was quiet."

"I'm sure you were." Andy didn't really understand either, but if Tim was going to speak, she wasn't going to interrupt.

"It was so _dark_ in there. I didn't even know if my eyes were open. I couldn't breathe."

Recognizing the signs of approaching panic, Andy asked, "What about _before_ that, Timothy? Something happened before that, didn't it?"

Tim shook his head, but his eyes, although they were still locked on the window, told her he was lying.

"You can't tell me. That's okay. If you're not ready to talk to me, I'm alright with that, but you need to talk to _somebody_, Timothy. You know that don't you?"

"It didn't help me before," he said after another long silence.

"That's because there was no one around to hear you. Now, you have your friends and coworkers, you have me and David and Dr. Samson. We all just want to help you, Timothy. The thing is that you have to _let_ us help you. You have to _talk_ to us and let us know how we can help."

"No one can help."

"You're wrong, Timothy. We can help... but only if you _let_ us help you. If you insist on keeping it all inside, then, you're right, we won't be able to help and you'll be stuck in your head forever. You'll be stuck inside your head even more than you were stuck in that box." Andy pointed at the window. "Do you _want_ to experience the world this way? Through a window? Never actually touching it, only seeing it from a distance?"

Tim didn't reply, but a single tear escaped from his staring eyes.

"Do you, Timothy?"

Slowly, Tim shook his head, but still he stared out the window.

"If you don't, then _you_ have to be the one to do something about it. We can't do it for you, but we can help you along the way."

Andy watched as another tear slid down Tim's cheek. She stood and chanced putting a hand on his shoulder. He tensed as she thought he might. She was still a stranger, after all, but after a few seconds, he relaxed a little.

"You're safe now, Timothy. We only want to help. I'll be back later on," she said and then left the room.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Andy was right, Tim knew. It was just so hard to face it. He would have to soon. The things he was remembering were important, but he kept hoping that if he ignored them, they'd go away. He closed his eyes tightly, seeing the fading reverse image from the window against the back of his eyelids. The image slowly faded away, leaving him in the dark again. Every time he closed his eyes, he hoped that when he opened them again, he'd be at home or at NCIS and the last three weeks wouldn't have ever happened. ...and every time he opened them, he found, as if for the first time, that it had all really happened. This time, he didn't open his eyes. Since he had stopped hiding behind the nothingness that was so tempting, he hadn't been sleeping very well. It wasn't the nightmares. It was the darkness and that feeling of dread hanging over him. The worst part was that the feeling always followed him into consciousness.

He felt himself start to drift and panicked a little.

"No. I'm safe. I'm safe. No one will let anything happen to me. I'm safe," he whispered to himself. Over and over, he repeated the words, trying to convince himself. Time passed and he started to sink into dreams. His last conscious thought was of the man who had taken him, that he had stood over him and smiled, holding that badge in his hand.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

"_I don't think there's anything here, Ziva," Tim commented as they got out of the car in a neighborhood of Great Falls._

"_You are probably right, but that's not our call. We go where we are directed."_

"_I know." Tim looked at the old house. It had probably been a lovely home once... fifty years ago. He sighed and looked at the address again. "This is definitely the place. What exactly did the tip say?"_

"_That there was 'suspicious activity' in the area."_

"_No specifics?"_

"_This house is vacant. It has only recently been sold, and apparently, there was someone sneaking around, and somehow it is related to the murder and theft in our case."_

_Tim sighed. It wasn't fair that he and Ziva had been roped into checking out this tip. He really hated it when Tony pulled rank and Gibbs let him._

"_Let's just get it over with. I hate having to do this."_

"_It is our job, McGee." Ziva said, her eyebrow raised. Then, she smiled. "I know what you mean. We should plot Tony's demise on our way back."_

_Tim grinned. "Okay, I'll take this side, you go that side?"_

"_No. _You_ will take the far side."_

"_Why?"_

"_Because I can kill you and get Abby to hide the evidence... if there is anything left of you, of course," Ziva said, and smiled sweetly. "Besides, I thought your parents raised a gentleman."_

"_They did, which is the only reason I'll go over there and climb over that junk." Tim bowed floridly and set off, leaving Ziva chuckling behind him._

"_There's something here, McGee!" Ziva called, just as he got to the other side._

"_What?"_

"_Garbage!"_

"_What?"_

"_Garbage! Should we take it back for Tony, you think?"_

_Tim waved his hand at her and started to climb over the junk littering the side of the house. As he got toward the back, he heard someone speaking. His first thought was that Ziva had run around to jump out at him, but the voice was male. It was probably just someone sneaking through the yard or something, but Tim felt a twist in his gut that made him nervous. He pulled out his gun and walked as quietly as he could to the corner._

"_Don't say another word!" The voice was angry, not shouting angry, but worse, that whispering angry that made Tim's skin crawl. "You screwed this up so royally I don't know if I can salvage it. This is my last chance."_

_Tim reached the corner, his gun at the ready, but when he peeked around the side, he found that the man was not five feet from him. Right now, his back was to Tim, but who knew how long _that_ would last._

"_NCIS wasn't supposed to know about _any_ of this until the first bomb went off. We're changing the date, all the dates, every one of the five detonations will have to be changed... because of you."_

_Bombs? NCIS? This was something, all right. Who _was_ this guy? His camouflage was not particularly helpful. Anyone could buy fatigues if they wanted to._

"_Why am I doing this? _Why_ am I _doing_ this?! I need a distraction, you idiot! The first bomb is scheduled for the 28__th__ now. That gives me two weeks to figure out how to change everything so that they don't figure it out. How could you be so stupid as to kill that guard? I should have known better than to trust anyone besides myself."_

_The guard. Tim had heard enough. He was in a very vulnerable position, in spite of his weapon. The man was too close. He just needed to back up a few feet to be out of range... just a foot or two..._

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"Tim! Wake up!"

"Come on, Probie, speak sense again, please."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_The man turned around suddenly and looked only slightly surprised at his presence. Before Tim could say anything, shout for Ziva, lift his gun, anything at all, he was on the ground looking upward as if through a fuzzy veil._

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"Tim!" There was shaking now. Tim didn't remember the shaking before.

"Yo, Probie! Come on, McGee, you're freaking us out, here."

Tony. Abby. They hadn't been there. It was only Ziva... and...

"Please, Tim."

Finally, Tim opened his eyes, breathing deeply, soaked in sweat and staring into the concerned faces of Abby and Tony.

"Man, don't _do_ that again, McGee. I swear, you stopped breathing," Tony said, for once, not joking.

"What happened?" Abby asked. Just before she had started shaking him, he had been moaning incoherently. That had worried her, but she had only been really afraid when, as Tony said, Tim had stopped breathing. She had been on the verge of running for help when Tim had gasped and opened his eyes. She watched, now, as his eyes flicked from her and Tony to the window.

"Just... just a dream," he said in a somewhat strangled voice.

"_Just_ a dream? That wasn't _just_ anything, McGee."

Abby punched Tony on the arm and said, "Do you want me to stay here tonight, Tim?"

Tim shook his head slightly. Abby was disappointed, but she wanted to give him the benefit of her understanding at least. She and Tony started to leave when they heard a sigh. They turned back. Tim was still staring out the window.

"Tony, do you have your evidence bag?" he asked.

"What? No, I'm off for the night. Why?"

"I have some evidence. You should probably document it." Tony tried to catch his eye, but Tim refused to look away from the window.

"Can't you just give it to me, Probie? I promise I won't lose it." It was a weak joke at best, and Tony knew it.

Tim, however, smiled faintly. "Only if you're going to take me with you."

"It's... it's on you?" Tony asked, no pleasant euphemism coming to mind.

Tim nodded.

"Something that no one noticed before?"

Tim nodded again. "It... I don't think... well, it won't ever really go away I don't think... but probably, I think... you should get it before it fades too much." The most awful thing about his speech was its almost nonchalant tone because it was completely belied by the frequent pauses, the repetitions and Tim's own ashen pallor. He had steeled himself to tell them, but it was obviously very difficult for him to actually get the words out.

"Okay, McGee," Tony said in a careful voice usually reserved for addressing lunatics. "Abby, why don't you call Gibbs and ask him to bring a kit?"

Abby didn't respond but did as he asked, her hushed conversation totally inaudible to the other occupants.

"He's on his way. Do you want to wait for him, Tim?"

Tim nodded yet again. Tony had fully intended to do as he had promised before and keep Tim in the loop, but that seemed like a dangerous proposition at present. He wasn't particularly sure that he even _wanted_ to know what it was that Tim had to tell or show them. He had see too much in the past to pretend that he didn't know what some of the worst possibilities were. They all sat in awkward silence, waiting for Gibbs to arrive.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Gibbs walked in on an incredibly awkward scene. Tony and Abby were both sitting in chairs, looking anxiously at Tim from time to time. Tim, for his part, was simply staring out the window, although, from his expression, Gibbs guessed he wasn't really seeing all that much.

"So, what's so important, McGee?" he asked, keeping his voice as terse as usual, but at the same time trying to avoid being overtly confrontational. It was a fine line, and Gibbs knew he often crossed it.

Tim finally tore his gaze from the window and met Gibbs' eyes. He was still more afraid than Gibbs wanted to see. There was so much they didn't understand about what had happened. Ziva had given her report, but she had seen so little. They _needed_ Tim to explain, but so far, that had been a dreadful prospect seeing as Tim couldn't maintain his coherency long enough to explain himself.

"Why don't we just lead up to it, McGee? Alright?"

Tim nodded, but didn't say anything. Gibbs sighed inwardly. This was going to be like the badges all over again.

"What happened after you and Ziva split up?"

"I was... walking along the side of the house. Neither of us were taking it very seriously." Tim's eyes flicked nervously around the room, resting briefly on each of his teammates before settling on the window again. "He was right by the side of the house, talking on a phone." He swallowed. "The... he... too close for me to risk attracting his attention. I'd never win in hand-to-hand." Again, Tim's eyes shifted from the window to Gibbs. Then, he looked briefly at Tony and Abby before going back to the window again. "I listened to him on the phone... it was real. I had to back up... out of reach. He seemed to know I was there. ...then, I was on the ground and I couldn't move. I couldn't... speak. I was just there." Tim stopped speaking.

"Wait, where did he take you after that, McGee?" Tony asked.

"Nowhere."

"But Ziva reported that he stole the car. She saw someone drive away."

"I don't remember going anywhere."

"Well, you couldn't have been at the house. We were there. We searched the entire place."

Tim just shrugged. "I don't remember." He was shaking a little bit now.

"Okay, what _do_ you remember, McGee?" Gibbs asked, taking control again.

"It might have been somewhere else," he said quietly. "He dragged me to... to the... to that place. No one was there. And..." Tim trailed off as his bandaged hands went up to his shoulder. Abby moved to help him. "No. I can do it," he said firmly. Clumsily, using the fingers poking out from the splint on his right hand, Tim moved his gown off his left shoulder revealing a massive bruise that was just beginning to heal. The dark purples and reds that had covered the area before were fading here and there to greens and yellows.

"We know about the bruise, McGee," Tony said.

"Not the bruise." Tim said, trying not to look at his own arm. "They probably missed it because of the bruise. ...it's... small."

"Missed what, McGee?" Gibbs asked. He sensed they were at the point where Tim would explain his evidence.

With effort and a small wince, Tim moved his fingers and traced out a small circle. That's all it looked like at first glance. Then, as the three of them leaned forward to take in the sight, Abby suddenly backed away, looking slightly ill.

"Is that...?" Tony began, but didn't finish. He, too, leaned back from Tim, his face carefully blank. Only Gibbs remained in the position of examination.

"Do you mind, McGee?" He lifted the camera he had brought along.

Tim shook his head and Gibbs took a few different pictures of Tim's shoulder. He felt as repulsed by what he saw there as Abby and Tony, but he hid it much better. After documenting the evidence, he reached out toward it. Tim flinched away.

"Can I look at it more closely, McGee?"

Tim nodded. "That's the SEAL trident I saw. I know... I know that... I'm not very... credible right now. You need solid evidence that he had one. There it is."

What evidence it was. Tim was right, it was small, but so awful in what it represented. Tim's proof that he had seen the SEAL trident was the fact that the man had actually _branded_ him with the badge. The result was a reverse image of the SEAL trident burned into his arm, leaving a small livid eagle... only this eagle... Gibbs leaned in closer to Tim who tensed but didn't shift away. In the real badge, the eagle was holding the pistol and the trident with its wings surrounding the anchor. This... this brand was different. Instead of being on top of the anchor, the eagle was below it... and it was being skewered by the trident, the pistol lying in approximately the same position only facing downward as if being fired at the eagle.

"Did he say anything to you, McGee? When he did this?"

Tim shook his head. "Nothing. He... he did it. I screamed. Then..." Tim's eyes lost a bit of their sanity. "Then... it was all dark." He surprised them all by laughing. The laughter was a little frightening because it was the kind of laugh that heralds a nervous breakdown. "I got that bruise the first day... I think. You can't tell how long these things last." His speech became rushed and less understandable. "I thought I had paced out the... the cage correctly. It made sense that I might be able to get out if I could break down the walls. So I... I pushed myself against one wall and ran at the other. I got there... really... really fast. I hit it harder than I expected. I thought, at first, that I had broken my shoulder. I forgot about the mark. I couldn't even move. All I seemed to have done was hurt myself, nothing else. The wall felt the same... exactly the same. It was so... hard that I couldn't even dent it. I stood up, forgetting that the ceiling was low. I hit my head. It sounded hollow. I..." Tim finally sputtered to a stop. "I didn't _mean_ to do this." He held up his hands. He was pleading for understanding. "I didn't _want_ this to happen. I just... I just wanted to get _out_. Just..." His eyes filled with tears again as he looked at his hands. "...I... it wasn't supposed to happen."

Before Abby or Tony could say anything or even move, Gibbs sat down and forced Tim to look at him. "Then, _why_ did you do it, Tim?"

"Because..." Tim took a few shallow breaths. "...because if... I stopped... if the noise, the pain, the movement... if it stopped, I...might..." He stopped speaking, momentarily overcome. "I might forget that I was alive."

"What do you mean?" Gibbs asked, slowly. Getting at Tim's state of mind was the key to helping him get over all this, he was sure of it.

"Every time I hit the wall... _every time_, it hurt. It hurt more than I can say, but it woke me up. I-I would wonder if I could do it again. I always could. I just... I felt myself getting tired, getting complacent... getting ready to die. If I stopped... I would. It kept me alive... but... now..." Finally spent by his confessions, Tim gave up on trying to be coherent and rational. He let his tears take control and he began to sob. Gibbs put his hand on Tim's shoulder briefly, and gestured to Abby. Immediately, she took Gibbs' place and wrapped her arms tightly around Tim.

"It's okay, Tim. You didn't do anything wrong," Abby said. Tim's arms moved up from his lap and encircled Abby. Tim held her close.

"I didn't want to do it," he whispered, his face buried in her shoulder.

"I know, Tim. I know. Shh, it's okay. It's over now. You'll be fine."

Having gathered the evidence, Gibbs slipped out. Abby and Tony stayed for awhile longer, but Tim didn't speak again. Abby held him until he fell asleep and then followed Tony out of the room.

"Do you think he'll be okay, Tony?"

Tony shrugged. "You said he was," he temporized.

"That's not an answer, and you know it, Tony."

"I hope he will, Abbs. I don't know." They reached the parking lot and he continued. "Normally, I'd say that this kind of thing wouldn't be so traumatic as it has been for McGee, but something happened to him in there."

"Yeah..." Abby looked down at the car door. "Thanks for giving me a ride, Tony."

Tony smiled. "If you'd just start driving something besides an old hearse, maybe you wouldn't have to get a ride every day."

She smiled back and didn't answer as she got inside.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Darkness was such a useful tool. It covered up so much.

"Evening, sir."

"Good evening," he said and continued on his purposeful march. No one questioned him. Even in these paranoid times, complacency could be found. That was also a very useful tool. Although he kept the pleasant expression plastered across his face, inside he started to boil with rage. All these years, he'd gotten away with planning this, and now he was actually getting away with the _execution_ of it... with the help of another washout. It shouldn't have been so _easy_. ...and they had thought that _he_ was the weak link in the chain. What did it say when years of service covered up plans bubbling just beneath the surface? Not even NCIS had... Well, that agent _had_ surprised him. He had managed to subdue Agent McGee so easily that he didn't think he'd have a chance of surviving. Still, it didn't matter; he was almost done with his task here. Then, he would be able to move on to the next theater of operations. His transfer request had come through without a hitch. He knelt on the ground and began to tie his shoe, unobtrusively dropping his small package into a hedge. He was giving them a chance to find it this time, to prove that they weren't completely worthless in their positions as protectors. He had spent some good years here, and they deserved a chance. The last bomb, on the other hand, had a very special placement. He would be killing two birds with one stone, so to speak.

His task complete, he stood and continued on his way. When he got to the exit, he signed himself out.

"Have a good evening, sir," the guard at the gate said.

"I will."

Darkness. Complacency. Two _very_ useful tools in revealing the weaknesses of the strong.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

If anyone had told him a month ago that the act of moving his fingers would be the most difficult and most painful part of his day, he wouldn't have believed them. Of course, if anyone had told him two weeks ago that he would be moving his fingers at all, he also wouldn't have believed them. Strange how perceptions changed.

"You're doing real good, Timothy! Once more, now."

It seemed rather silly to have a cheerleader when he was simply clenching and unclenching his fist. It still hurt... _a lot_. However, it _was_ strangely satisfying to watch his hands do what he told them to. He'd only been doing this for a week, and his hands were actually working! Besides that, last night he'd managed to sleep the whole night without waking in a blind panic. As long as he could keep himself from thinking about it, he was okay...which was one of the reasons he was dreading Andy's visit. She _forced_ him to think about it.

"Timothy? You in there?" He felt a gentle tap on his wrist.

Tim lifted his head, startled out of his focus on his exercises.

"You were zoning out," David said, smiling.

"Oh."

"You weren't the joker of the group before all this, were you?" he asked.

Tim furrowed his brow in confusion. "No. Why?"

"I was going to suggest that you practice if you had been."

"Can't be everything," Tim said, trying to laugh. He knew that it didn't work, though.

"Hey, I'm sorry. That's a sore spot, I can tell."

Tim hunched his shoulders and winced a little as he aggravated his bruised shoulder. "That's your job, isn't it?" he asked, wiggling his fingers slightly and wincing again.

"How badly does it hurt?"

"Not bad," Tim said evasively. In reality, it hurt almost as much as when he had initially done the damage, but it was so nice to have his head feel clearer without all the pain medication... and the pain was gratifying in a way, a holdover from his captivity, he supposed. He pushed the thought away.

"You know, Timothy, this doesn't have to be some sort of endurance test. You're healing, not training."

Tim laughed humorlessly. "What's the difference? I'm training my hands to work again."

"No, you're not. You're rehabilitating them. They've always worked; they just have to heal. It's the difference in the state of mind. You're not getting new skills or regaining old skills. You're simply easing back into skills you've had all along." David set about replacing the splints on Tim's hands, noting the intensity with which Tim stared at them. It was a sudden shift he'd noticed a couple of days ago. Instead of avoiding even a small glimpse of his own hands, Tim had taken to staring at them as if daring them to stop working. At least, he was doing the independent exercises. It was only when David brought up just how he had gotten to his current state that the determination in his eyes flickered and the fear returned.

"I'd rather feel the pain and think clearly, than have two big senseless lumps in my lap," Tim said, turning his eyes back onto his hands. "The sooner my hands work; the sooner I can leave." His gaze moved briefly to the window again. "I hate being stuck in here." He looked over at David. "_When_ will I be able to go?"

"I don't make that decision, Timothy. You'll have to ask Dr. Samson. He's the one who will ultimately decide."

"I _hate_ being in here," Tim said, his voice falling to a whisper. "It's just another prison, only the jailers are nicer." He gave a small smile which faded when David failed to smile.

"Do you want to talk to him? We're pretty much done here for today. I can go and find him."

"N–...yes, I'd like that."

"Okay." David stood and gathered his stuff. Then, he turned back. "I scarcely need remind you to do your exercises every night, but I will remind you not to overdo it. You, of all people, I'm sure, don't want a relapse."

"No."

"Then, do as I tell you, and not more. _I'm_ the expert here."

Tim smiled. "Yes, sir."

After David left, Tim's smile disappeared. "I just want to go _home_," he said, looking out the window again.

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"I've already given you my opinion on the culprit, Jethro. I don't see that there is much more I can add. He is obviously someone bearing a grudge against the Navy, not just the SEALs, but the entire Navy." Ducky paused in his cleaning. "However, there is something that I think might be important about him."

"What's that?" Gibbs asked, leaning against one of the autopsy tables.

"He hasn't given _me_ much work," Ducky said. "The amount of C-4 he stole... or rather, Rollings stole, could have been used for explosions which were much more devastating than these have been. If Timothy is right that the murder of the guard at the armory was an error, then, perhaps death is not his primary intention, at least not so far. The bomb at the gates, unfortunately, caused a couple of deaths, but the following explosions did nothing more than cause injury, injuries that, while severe, were a matter of chance. He's making a point."

"But _what_ point, Ducky?"

"I wish I knew, Jethro. How is Timothy holding up? He seemed rather down the last time I spoke with him."

Gibbs hitched one shoulder. "Sometimes he seems better; other times, worse. I can't figure out what triggers it, and really, I don't have time to either. That's why he has that shrink."

"I know you don't mean that to be as incredibly callous as it sounds, Jethro."

Gibbs sighed in frustration. "Too much of this case depends on him, Ducky. He's the only witness. He's the only sure link we have between all these bombings besides the C-4. Rollings has not said a single word. Threats don't mean anything to him." Gibbs stood up and walked toward the doors. "I need McGee to make a definite sketch of the guy. I've been waiting, but I can't wait anymore. No one else has been able to give a description, and the one person who might have been related at the Academy was not bald and seemed very young... at least to the midshipman who spoke to him... and that may not even be the same person. McGee _has_ to give us more than he has so far."

"Maybe now is the time."

"There are still two more bombs out there... if McGee is right. The time has been long past." Decision made, Gibbs strode away.

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"Timothy, I hear you wanted to speak with me."

"When can I leave?" Tim asked, without any preamble, his voice shaky but determined.

Dr. Samson sat down and examined Tim closely before he answered. "That's a complicated question, Agent McGee."

"Couldn't you at least _try_ to answer it?"

"The short answer is not yet. Are you sure you're ready for the long answer?"

The question was rewarded by a flash of fear in Tim's eyes. Dr. Samson had been impressed by the sudden change in Tim's attitude over the last week. He didn't know what had brought it on, but it had been accompanied by an intense desire to leave the hospital. Perhaps now was the time to lay it all out on the table.

"Yes," Tim said finally.

"Okay. Here it is. You broke nearly every bone in both hands from the metacarpals to the intermediate phalanges, many of them more than once. Your thumbs were the only completely unbroken bones. Your left hand is much worse than your right. In particular, the fifth proximal phalanx on each hand was crushed, requiring delicate reconstruction during surgery. The fifth metacarpal on your left hand also had multiple fractures, again requiring extensive reconstruction. In fact, the entire phalanx along with the fifth metacarpal on your left hand suffered multiple fractures." Then, Dr. Samson clenched his own fist and hit it against his other hand. "Do you see where the pressure is, Agent McGee? The head of each metacarpal bone in your fingers suffered varying degrees of damage. You also damaged the muscles and tendons in your hands because of the repetitive nature of the injury. The lower metacarpals suffered no breaks, but again because of the repetitive nature of the injury, they were all weakened. You have either pins or screws in the intermediate phalanges of your fingers in both hands. You could have _permanently_ ruined your hands."

Dr. Samson had paid attention to Tim's expression as he had explained all the injuries. His face now had an unpleasant pasty pallor. "However..." he paused while Tim took a deep breath and tried not to vomit. "..._you did not_. As far as we can tell, and we will be doing x-rays later today to verify the fact, you are healing extraordinarily well. I have no reason to believe that you will not eventually regain full use of both your hands. That being said, it is going to be a very long and very painful road to full recovery."

"So..." Tim managed. That single syllable appeared to exhaust him and he fell silent.

"So, the reason that you are not yet able to leave the hospital is because you cannot yet care for yourself. You don't have the strength in your hands to get dressed, to grip anything, be it food, dishes or soap. If you were to check out of this hospital today, you would have to have someone with you 24/7, and I'm not kidding. Your hands _are_ healing, but they are not yet _healed_. We don't want to risk re-injury. However..." Again, Dr. Samson paused as Tim reeled from the litany. "...I estimate that in another week or two, you _will _be in a position to engage in light every-day activities that are coincident with living outside this hospital."

"L-light?"

Dr. Samson smiled. "Getting dressed, feeding yourself, showering, et cetera. But absolutely _no_ field work for at least another six weeks of therapy."

"Six... _weeks_?" Tim whispered, aghast.

"At least. You won't have complete use of your hands for probably another three to six months."

"What?"

"That's _full_ recovery. That means that you'll be doing exercises and having once or twice a week hand therapy, not that you won't be working. Your hands may even feel normal in another six weeks, but they won't be. You'll notice extra pain or that they cramp or tire easily. That will be the warning sign that you're doing too much. That goes for now as well. We have pain medication for a reason, Agent McGee. If you're worried about losing some clarity in your thought processes, we can give you a lower dosage. Don't feel like you have to suffer through the pain in order to think. Okay?"

Pale and still, Tim stared at his hands, much as any other person might stare at an enemy or at something particularly repugnant.

"That's a lot to take in, I know. But you'll make it. Don't think about the long term yet."

"Okay." Tim whispered. He didn't look up. "I'm fine," he added in response to Dr. Samson's unspoken question.

"Maybe not yet, but you will be." Dr. Samson patted Tim on the arm and then left.

Tim kept staring at his hands. They weren't his appendages anymore. They were obstacles to be conquered. "I hate you," he said to them.

"That's a dangerous attitude to have about your own body, McGee."

Tim jumped but didn't look up. "It's true though. I _hate_ them. I wish I could just tear them off at the wrists."

"Again, a dangerous attitude."

"Boss?"

"What, McGee?" Gibbs asked. He was watching Tim with concern.

"Would you have done this?"

"Done what?"

"This." Tim held up his hands. "Would you have done this to yourself if it had been _you_ in there?"

"McGee, look at me, please." Tim did so, only reluctantly. "I honestly have no idea. How does anyone know how they'll react in a situation until they're in it?"

"I never thought I'd do something like this," Tim admitted. "What if it happens again?"

Gibbs smiled although he'd never felt less like smiling. "The odds are quite high against that, as I'm sure you know. What do _you_ think?"

Now, Tim stared out the window again. "I don't know. It would be worse... if it happened... for a second time. I'd know exactly what could happen. I don't think I could stand it again."

"I think you could, McGee."

"Do you?"

"Yes. I think that because you survived it once you'd know that you could survive it again."

"I don't know if I could, Boss."

"Well, _I_ do."

One corner of Tim's mouth edged upward in a hint of a smile. "Is there something you needed, Boss?"

"Yeah. We need you to give a full description of the man who attacked you."

To Gibbs' surprise, that drew Tim's eyes away from the window. They were bright, but he looked like he was interested, engaged... for the first time since they had pulled him out of the box.

"Okay. When can I come to NCIS to do that?"

"You can just give the description," Gibbs said, and then, shortly thereafter, realized just why Tim was interested.

"Please, Boss. I can't check out yet..." His eyes shifted around the room nervously. "...but I _really_ need to get out of here, just for awhile. Please?"

"I'll check with Dr. Samson... and then, I'll send someone to get you regardless." As he had hoped, that finally brought a smile to Tim's face. "Tomorrow morning. You'd better be ready."

Tim looked down at himself, at his hospital gown, and his eyes went back up to Gibbs.

"Tony's broken into your apartment before. I'm sure he can do it again."

"Thanks, Boss."

"Don't thank me yet, McGee. Sooner or later, you're going to have to come back... before I kill my computer." Gibbs left with the welcome and sadly unfamiliar sound of Tim's laughter in his ears.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tomorrow was the day. They hadn't found it yet. They deserved whatever damage the bomb caused. He fingered his modified trident again, this time in anticipation. There was no way they'd get out of this charge of negligence. They should know much better. They should _be_ much better than this. No excuses. Not this time.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Tim heard the muffled voices outside the door of his hospital room. He couldn't quite discern what the words were, but Ziva's voice was among those he heard. He smiled a little. Ziva would certainly not let any doctor or shrink tell her that she had to disobey Gibbs' orders. Of all the people Gibbs could have picked to come and get him, Ziva was probably the best at making sure it actually happened. He just hoped that she had some clothes for him.

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"I'm not sure that this is a good idea," Dr. Samson said.

"_I_ am," Andy argued. "David told me yesterday that Timothy is coming to regard this place as another prison, windows or not. This kind of a trip would be good for him. He'll be outdoors, protected, and it will help him trust us more, help him see that he is not just a prisoner left to others' control. He is free in fact as well as in name."

Ziva stayed silent for the moment. She had already said her piece and was now waiting to see whether she would be taking Tim with their permission or by force. Either way, he _would_ be coming with her.

"Are you certain, Dr. Chakhravartty?"

"_Yes_. Timothy needs this. His x-rays were good; David assures me that he is doing his exercises exactly as he has been instructed. He has accepted, more or less, that he won't be released for a while longer. This would be as therapeutic as a week's worth of sessions with me."

Dr. Samson sighed in capitulation. "Did you bring him some street clothes, Office David?"

"Yes," she said, holding up a bag.

"Alright. I'll get a nurse to help him get dressed... unless _you_ would like to?"

Ziva's eyes went wide at the idea and she didn't answer. Dr. Samson just chuckled and took the sack from her unresisting fingers and left her standing outside Tim's door. A few minutes later, a nurse went into the room. Ziva couldn't deny that a part of her thought it would have been funny to go in there and pretend that she was going to help Tim get dressed, but she was also afraid that he might take it as poking fun at his injury. Instead, she waited until the door opened again and Tim rolled out, looking a little pale, but also eager.

"McGee, are you ready?"

"You have _no_ idea, Ziva," he answered.

"I'm getting an idea. Let's go. Abby has been waiting for your arrival for at least three hours."

"Three hours?" Tim asked as the nurse pushed the wheelchair down the hall. His smile faded as they approached the main elevator. "Do we _have_ to go in there?"

"In where?" Ziva asked and then looked up. "Oh. Yes, McGee, I'm afraid it's either that or we tip you over the balcony."

Tim forced a laugh, but was incredibly tense as the elevator doors closed. Ziva casually rested a hand on his shoulder and felt the tension ease just a little. She leaned over and whispered, "We're almost there, McGee. The doors will open." At her words, they reached the ground floor and the elevators doors did indeed open. Tim sagged in relief and blushed slightly.

"I think it's going to... take awhile."

"Completely understandable. Will you have this difficulty in the car as well?"

"I don't think so, but we won't know until we try, will we."

"True." Ziva left Tim with the nurse at the entrance and retrieved the car. Tim stood unsteadily as she pulled up and pushed open the door for him.

"I feel like it's been forever since I was outside," Tim sighed as Ziva started driving. "Can we take the long way?"

Ziva grinned. "Seeing as it is only just past rush hour, I don't know how we could avoid it. _Every_ way will be the long way."

"Good. The longer the better." Tim rolled down the window and leaned his head against the door, closing his eyes as the wind whipped over his face. As Ziva had predicted, the morning traffic jam had not fully cleared out and they spent a lot longer slowing down than speeding up. Tim didn't mind at all. He felt so good to be outdoors, even if it was in a car. It was as if he hadn't been able to breathe properly ever since that man had put him into the box. This was his first real breath of air in who knew how long.

"McGee? Are you awake?" Ziva asked as they slowed to a crawl. The only reason she kept her frustration at driving so slowly in check was because of how much Tim seemed to be enjoying himself.

"Yes. I'm awake. Just enjoying the air."

"The smog?" she joked.

"That, too."

"I've been thinking..."

"About what?" Tim opened his eyes and turned to look at her. She sounded more serious than she had before.

"About what you said to me that night I stayed in the hospital."

Tim shifted uncomfortably. "Which particular... statement?"

"You said that you were weak because of what happened."

Tim looked out the window again as the cars around them picked up speed. He preferred the sound of the wind rushing past them to this track of conversation.

"McGee."

"Yes?"

"I just wanted to say that you were wrong."

"No... I don't think so," Tim said, feeling worse by the second. He just wanted to pretend that he was enjoying a nice drive. He didn't want to think about those trauma-laden first days when time had meant nothing and life had been only marginally his own possession.

"I know you were wrong. You think you were weak because you could not get out. No one could have successfully freed themselves from that cage, McGee. It was not built with that purpose in mind."

"But..."

"Please, let me finish. Do you know how many people would have given up and let themselves die in the same situation?"

"No."

"No, nor does anyone, but I'd be willing to bet that many would have given up, or worse, they would have killed themselves rather than wait to die. You did neither. You stayed alive." They slid to a stop as a light turned red. Ziva reached out carefully and picked up one of Tim's hands. "These injuries are not a sign of your weakness. They are a sign of your strength. Rather than let yourself give in, you did everything you could to keep yourself alive... even if it required a very painful sacrifice on your part. You did it. You stayed alive. You told us what we needed to know. Now, you are ready to tell us more."

"I didn't tell you soon enough," Tim said, staring at the hand Ziva held. "I couldn't get past what happened."

"You _are_ getting past it now. I would dare anyone to hop back quickly from such an experience."

"Bounce..." Tim correctly quietly, still staring that the hand Ziva continued to hold in her own.

"Bounce, hop, leap... they all mean the same thing." The light turned green. She put his hand back in his lap and continued to drive. "They are symbols of strength, McGee. Remember that." She was interrupted by her phone. "David. Another one? Yes, I'll stay. No, I don't. We are on our way."

"Another one?" Tim said quietly.

"Yes, at Norfolk. Gibbs and Tony are on their way... as is Ducky."

"Someone died?" Tim said even more softly.

"Yes." Ziva didn't feel the need to elaborate, to tell Tim that five had been killed and another seven injured by shrapnel when the bomb went off. It wouldn't make him feel any better and served no useful purpose at that time.

The rest of the ride was spent in silence. Tim was looking out the window again, but every so often, he would look down at his hands, trying to see what Ziva had described, trying _not_ to think about the bomb that still remained. Ziva didn't speak either, but she glanced at him as she drove and was gratified to see a change in his expression. When they finally arrived at NCIS, Ziva watched as Tim swayed a little getting out of the car. She took one step toward him, but he waved her off.

"I'm fine. Just a little dizzy. I've been in a bed for too long," Tim said. Still, she walked close to him as they entered the building and felt him tense again as the elevator doors opened to admit them.

"It's either the elevator or the stairs, McGee, and looking at your face, I have my doubts about your ability to get down to Abby's lab on foot."

"You're probably right," Tim agreed, but he closed his eyes tightly as they stepped onto the elevator, Ziva right beside him. With a ding, the doors closed and Tim didn't open his eyes until he heard the second ding indicating their arrival at Abby's lab.

"You can open your eyes, now, Tim," Abby said. She was standing right outside the elevator, obviously waiting for their arrival. When he didn't immediately obey her, she jumped into the elevator, threw her arms around him and dragged him out. "Open your eyes, Tim!"

Tim finally acceded to her request and smiled at the familiar surroundings. The music blaring, the machines all doing their respective tasks, and of course, Abby wearing a white lab coat, a t-shirt with a winking skull and crossbones and what he chose to think of as black ink splotches all over it peeking out underneath. Whatever else there was in the room meant little with Abby's comforting and above all, exuberant, presence. He could do anything in there... as long as he didn't have to use his hands of course. He frowned at the thought.

"What is it, Tim?" Abby asked, noticing his silence.

"It's just that I'm going to have to have you do all the work, Abby. I can't do it myself." That was a hard thing to admit, and Abby could see it in his eyes.

"You'll be recalling details and I'll be plugging them in. That's working _together_, Tim. We do that all the time. I don't mind it. Do you?"

"I guess not."

Abby hugged him again, less fiercely this time. It was a hug meant to comfort not overwhelm. Tim found himself near tears at the feeling of security he had in this place, with Abby. For whatever reason, from first real awakening in the hospital, it had been Abby who had made him feel safe.

"Okay, Tim. Let's get to work," Abby said, pulling away and dragging Tim over to one of the computers.

"McGee, come up to the bullpen when you are finished down here. Perhaps we will have more news." Ziva had seen Tim's relief and happiness at being back and she was in no hurry to return him to his hospital bed where he looked so helpless and alone.

"Okay, Ziva," Tim said and sat down on a stool near Abby, watching with only a trace of envy as her fingers flew across the keyboard.

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"Welcome to the Navy Yard, sir. ID, please?" the guard requested. The man handed it over easily. "Master EOD Geoffery Lyons," he read aloud and checked it. "That checks out." He returned the ID. "Go on in, sir."

"Thank you," Lyons said politely and entered the Yard, making a beeline for Sicard Street.

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"No, Abby, his eyes were bigger than that."

"Just a second ago you said they were smaller, Tim."

Tim sighed in frustration and lifted his hand to run it through his hair before remembering that he couldn't do that. "It's so hard to do this... I'm sorry, Abbs. I just..."

"No, Tim. It's okay. Just be patient. We'll get this. Let's forget the eyes and go to body type."

"Okay, he was a couple of inches taller than me and he was... I don't know... built?"

"Say no more, McGee." Abby entered a few commands. "Like this?"

"Not... that built."

"Okay." More taps. "Now?"

"Yeah. That's pretty close."

"Okay, now we'll put him all together," Abby said, suiting actions to words. "Well? Is this him?"

Tim stood up from the stool and backed away before he'd even consciously processed the reconstruction in front of him.

"Whoa, whoa!" Abby grabbed Tim before he could get any further away. "It's just a picture, Tim, but I'll take that as a sign that it's accurate."

Tim swallowed. "Yeah, it's accurate. I... I think... I think I want to go upstairs now."

"That's fine, Tim. I'll just run this through the database and see who pops up."

"Okay, Abby," Tim said, without really listening.

"Go on, Tim. I'll see you upstairs." She gave him a little push toward the elevator. "Get it over with now, Tim. You're fine."

Tim looked at the elevator and took a deep breath. He stepped on and gave Abby a frightened glance as the doors closed. She smiled and gave him a thumbs up.

"You're my hero, Tim!" she shouted just before the elevator doors closed completely.

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Tim closed his eyes as the elevator started to move, but instead of the sensation of moving upward that he had expected, it moved downward. That forced him to open his eyes and check the floor he'd pushed. It was_ possible_, as awkward as his hands currently were that he had hit the wrong button. No, the correct button was lit. He pushed it again... nothing. There was a sinking feeling in his gut that had nothing to do with the movement of the elevator. Tim tensed.

"It's just a malfunction. It's just a malfunction. This is NCIS. What could happen here?" he said aloud, wincing as his voice cracked. Then, the elevator stopped and the doors opened.

Tim suddenly noticed that he had flattened himself against the back wall of the elevator. He took a hesitating step forward. Then, he stopped dead in his tracks. "You... No!"

"So you _do_ recognize me, Agent McGee. That _is_ unfortunate for you," Lyons commented as he drew his gun and pointed it at Tim's head.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

"I really didn't expect you to survive that crate. I figured that your slow death would provide a worthwhile distraction and it worked, but you lived through it. If it weren't for the fact that I can't have you telling people who I am, I'd let you live. You're obviously a valuable part of the Navy. They're weak enough at the core that they need someone like you to keep them in line."

Tim felt dead inside. The man who had done this to him was going to kill him. He had survived only to die. The injustice of it all made him want to scream, to cry, to tear out the man's eyes, but he could only stand there and wait for death to come.

"A few steps back, if you please, Agent McGee." Dazed, Tim obeyed. "Into the corner, please." Again, Tim did as requested. He was wholly disconnected from what was happening. It all seemed totally unreal and yet... every second that went by, he expected a bullet to come zinging through his brain, tearing apart everything that made him who he was and leaving him to cease his existence many years before he had planned it. "Face the wall." Tim turned without thinking. "I am sorry about this, Agent McGee. You have too good a memory. You are too good at your job. I have more work to do and I can't let myself be implicated." The voice seemed to recede and then, the doors closed and the elevator started to move. It went up for awhile and then jerked to a stop, much like when Gibbs used it for his office. Tim still didn't move. He stood facing the wall, wondering why he was still alive. The elevator moved again for a few seconds and then jerked to a halt and the lights went out. That was enough to jolt Tim from his frozen state. He turned around as the emergency lights kicked on. He looked around the elevator, trying with all his might not to panic at being shut in a small room again. Then, he saw the duffel bag in the corner. With trembling fingers, wincing at the injudicious motions he was making, he pulled open the zipper. His breathing became shallow and his heart rate soared as he stared in horror at what was in it.

"No, no, no, no, no, no..." Tim said, his voice starting at a whisper and rising higher and higher as the stark reality of what was going on finally made its way into his consciousness. Before he could even think, he ran at the elevator doors and threw himself against them, again and again. "No! No! No!" He couldn't seem to articulate any other sound. "NO!" he screamed and hit the doors again, this time pounding with his splinted hands. The searing pain that ran from the tender bones and only partially healed incisions broke through the blind panic that gripped him.

"No. I can't do this. I can't..." Tim kept breathing, trying to it slow down, trying to get in control. "I can't die like this." Again, his terror took precedence over his reason and he threw himself at the doors again. "Let me out! I can't _die_ like this! No!" Each word was punctuated with a slam against the doors. Again, he hit the doors with his hands. Again, the pain pulled him out of his crazed struggles.

"I will _not_ lose control..." Tim backed up to the wall and slid down it to the floor and began weeping. "I've already lost it..." He looked at the duffel again. All the C-4 that had not been used in the first three... no four... explosions was packed in there he figured. The timer was counting down from two hours. Tim had no experience with explosives. He didn't have a clue beyond the kind of things one saw in the movies about always cutting the red wire... or _not_ cutting the red wire... he couldn't remember. Besides, with his hands in their current state, he wasn't really in a position to do anything even if he had been the world's foremost expert on explosive ordnance. He didn't have tools. He didn't have his phone... the phone. His brain clicked on and for a blessed minute he thought that he had a chance of getting out. He crawled over to the box and pulled it open. The emergency phone was there. He picked it up...

...nothing. "No!" He threw the useless phone against the wall. He hit the emergency button. ...nothing. "No!" he shouted again and collapsed to the floor of the elevator, sobbing hysterically. "_I'm going to die_..." he screamed.

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"Geoffrey Lyons, Master EOD," Abby read from the monitor. Immediately, she picked up the phone and called Gibbs. "Gibbs! I think we've got our guy."

"Who is it, Abby?"

"An expert in explosives, Master EOD Geoffrey Lyons. Get this, he was a washout from SEAL training."

"He rang the bell?"

"Yep."

"He went into EOD training after that?"

"Yeah. He's been a model soldier since then. Top of every class. Achieved Master rank just last year. He's the only guy in the database who matches Tim's description. He'd have the requisite skills to make all those bombs, Gibbs. It makes sense, doesn't it?"

"He's gone after the Navy Yard, the Naval Hospital, the Naval Academy, now Norfolk. Where is he stationed now?"

"Norfolk, but he's put in for a transfer to the San Diego training facility and it's gone through. He's to ship out next week." Abby paused. "If he's leaving, what will be his last place? And _why_ is he going after these places? Norfolk is a deployment base. Lots of training goes on there. The Academy trains a lot of people who could go on to become SEALs. But why the hospital? Why the gates of the Yard?"

"I don't know. How's McGee holding up?"

"I haven't seen him since he helped with the sketch about... forty-five minutes ago. He was pretty freaked out by the picture; so I guess it was good. I sent him back up to the bullpen. At least there are lots of windows up there."

"Check on him, will you, Abby?"

"Getting soft, Gibbs?" Abby teased.

"No." Gibbs didn't laugh. "Getting worried. Something doesn't fit."

"Okay, I'll talk to you later."

"No, Abby. Don't hang up. Call up to Ziva and ask her about McGee."

"Okay," Abby said, feeling very confused. She turned to the camera and called up to Ziva. "Hey, Ziva. Where's Tim?"

Ziva stood and approached the camera, looking worried. "Is he not still with you?"

"No. I sent him up forty-five minutes ago."

"He never came up."

"Gibbs?" Abby said, fear creeping into her voice.

"I heard." His voice faded a little as he spoke away from the mouthpiece. "Hang on, DiNozzo." Then, she heard the squealing tires which indicated a U-turn, along with a thump from Tony hitting the window. "We're coming back, Abby. Find him."

"Yes, Gibbs." Abby hung up and then turned to Ziva who was still on the camera. "We need to find Tim."

"Come up here and we'll discuss the best way to search," Ziva instructed.

"Right." Abby disconnected and headed to the elevator. She pushed the button and waited.

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Tim was still curled in a little ball on the floor, his attempt at maintaining control abandoned, his fear taking over every part of his brain. "I'm going to die. I'm going to die. I'm going to die." As he continued to sob, he tightened his arms around his chest. He felt like he couldn't breathe, like the idea of his impending doom was pressing down on his lungs, keeping them from inflating. He didn't know how much time had passed, but suddenly, a voice, a memory flashed through his chaotic brain.

"_I think that because you survived it once you'd know that you could survive it again."_

Then, as his tears slowed, along with his breathing, another voice from his very recent past, although it seemed ages ago, chimed in.

"_They are symbols of strength, McGee. Remember that." _

Tim opened his eyes and remembered what Abby had shouted at him, just as he had left her such a short time ago: _"You're my hero, Tim!" _

He sat up, shaking with fear, with exhaustion, his breathing just short of pure hyperventilation, but he tried, he _tried_ to think. He looked at the timer in the duffel bag and saw that he had lost an hour of precious time in his breakdown. Tim knew that he couldn't do anything about the bag for the moment; so he tried to ignore it. He tried not to look at the walls, but they seemed to be pressing in on him. He started to shake again. "No. Calm down. You can do this, Tim. NCIS agents don't give up. Tony didn't die from the plague. Ziva didn't run away from the Iranians. Abby was willing to take on Mikel with my toilet lid. Ducky faced off with Ari. Gibbs is... Gibbs is Gibbs. He never backs down. Kate... she died, but she died doing her job." More tears escaped from his eyes. He scratched his face by trying to wipe them away with the splint. "I can at least do the same... right." Tim looked at his hands, encased as they were in splints. If he did what he was contemplating, he risked causing further, possibly irreparable damage, but if he sat and did nothing, he ran a greater risk of dying when that bomb went off.

"Okay. I can do this. I lived for probably a week with broken hands. I can go for an hour." Tim gritted his teeth and managed to work off one of the splints. He sucked in his breath sharply as he did the same with the other splint. Then, he unwrapped the light dressing which protected his skin from chafing. His hands were now completely open to his view, incisions, stitches and all. Every motion was agonizing; his pain medication was definitely wearing off. He swallowed at the sight of his handiwork and then crawled over to the box again. He looked at the phone, pulled off the panel and, in between gasps and moans of pain, examined the wiring. All appeared to be fine there. It must be something that the bomber had done on his end. That was a dead end, no progress to be made there. Then, he looked up at the ceiling. There was one option left, and it made him weak just to consider it. He sat down and considered whether or not he could bring himself to do it.

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"Abby, what took you so long?" Ziva demanded as Abby came huffing into the bullpen.

"The elevator... out of service. I wore the wrong shoes today."

"Abby, you wear the wrong shoes, every day," Ziva commented and then stopped in her tracks and spun around. "The elevator isn't working?"

"No, it's not. I waited for five minutes before I decided to just take the stairs. It's happened before."

"What if..."

"McGee's in the elevator? He would have called for help if he was stuck in there. You saw his face when he rode with you."

"Yes, but what if he could not get help?"

"You think... No, no that can't be." As one, the two women turned toward the elevator. It was a part of their lives. Every day, they rode on it at least twice, usually more, especially during a case. Never had it seemed more threatening and ominous than it did at that moment.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

"Okay..." Tim stood up and gritted his teeth once more. Then, he jumped up and grabbed at the hatch which would open up into the shaft. He forced his hands to grip the handle and unlock it. He screamed in pain but held on and twisted. He seemed to be able to feel every single broken bone in his hands protest, but his therapy, limited as it had been, gave him enough leverage to unlock the hatch. He let go and collapsed to the floor of the elevator, clasping his hands to his chest and weeping again.

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Ziva ran to the elevator and pushed the button. Then, after a few seconds, she pushed it again.

"I told you, Ziva. It's not working." Abby started pacing back and forth. "We can run down to the main box. Or we can... I don't know."

Ziva pulled the fire alarm.

"Hey! What are you doing that for?" Abby shrieked.

"The bomb must be in the elevator... with McGee," Ziva said shortly. "It is the only scenario that makes sense."

"No, it's not."

"If I am right, this whole building could explode at any moment. If I am wrong, then it's a fire drill." Ziva began to pry at the doors. "Are you going to help or just stand there?"

Abby shrugged and began to pull at the doors with Ziva. It was early enough in the morning that some people hadn't yet shown up, but late enough that many were already out on assignment. No one was in the bullpen to see the two women frantically pulling at the elevator doors.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tim swallowed his pain and looked up at the hatch he still had to push open. Then, of course, he would have to find some way to pull himself up without passing out. "Okay..." he whispered in a voice full of tears. He jumped up and pushed, using his left hand to stabilize himself and his right to push at the hatch. It took two tries and the second left him on the floor again, in the throes of exquisite pain.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Abby and Ziva finally got the doors open and peered down the shaft. About ten feet below them sat the elevator, the access hatch was open and they could just see Tim lying on the floor, could just hear his pain-filled cries.

"McGee!"

"Tim!"

Their voices echoed through the shaft.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tim opened his streaming eyes when heard the voices. It wasn't possible. Was it? He forced himself to sit up and look through the hatch. He could see Ziva and Abby leaning into the shaft, looking down at him.

"McGee!"

"Ziva! Abby!" That was all he could say at first.

"Are you alright?"

"The-the bomb... it's here," he finally got out. "I can't... I don't know how."

"McGee! I'm coming down." Ziva climbed into the shaft. "Abby..."

"Go down to maintenance and get the elevator working again, yes, ma'am." Abby was gone before Ziva could say another word. She smiled and climbed down.

"Are you alright, McGee?" she asked again as she descended.

"No, I'm not," Tim answered and Ziva could hear in his voice that he was only barely holding it together. "The bomber... he was here. He's probably gone now. He said he had more work to do. He forced me in here. Disabled the elevator. I tried to call. I tried to sound the alarm. Nothing worked." He was starting to ramble and his speech was becoming faster and more hysterical as Ziva reached the hatch and dropped down into the elevator.

She grabbed Tim by the shoulders and shook him gently to get him to stop talking. "It's okay, now, McGee. I'm here and we'll get out of this.

Tim made a concerted effort to get in control again. "Right. Right. I'm okay."

"You _are_. You're fine." Ziva released him and turned to the duffel bag. "We're both going to be fine. This is a basic timer setup. That fits with the other bombs he built. He's making a point."

"He said that the Navy was weak at its core."

Ziva carefully turned over the casing of the timer and pried off the back, revealing a network of wires. "Yes, and it looks like he's proving it by striking at every major Navy location in the DC area." She examined each wire, trying to ignore the sheer terror streaming off Tim, and then pulled one out. She sighed with relief.

"That's... that's it?" Tim asked.

"Rather anti-climatic, is it not?" Ziva said, smiling now.

"Yeah, isn't it supposed to have like three seconds left before you figure out the correct wire?"

"Maybe in the movies. If you would prefer it that way, McGee, I can always reconnect the timer and let it count down."

"No, no, I think I can live without that," Tim said, the tears threatening to spill again. He sank to the floor of the elevator again and only then did Ziva notice that his splints were off, lying forgotten in the corner. She also took in the dents in the doors and the broken telephone.

"What happened to you in here, McGee?" she asked. While Ziva knew she could easily climb back out of the elevator, she also knew that Tim could not, and it would be cruel to leave him in here alone. Since they had nothing to do but wait until Abby could get the elevator going again, she sat beside him.

Tim didn't answer for awhile. He just sat there. Ziva didn't push. She waited.

"I... I lost it... big time," he finally admitted, trying to hold back the tears. "I... I thought I was... going to die." He rested his arms on his knees, his damaged and swollen hands hanging in the empty air, his head dropping forward as if it was too heavy to hold up. Perhaps it was. "I saw the bomb. Nothing worked. I just... I lost it."

Ziva put her arm around his shoulders. "But when we figured out where you were, you had the hatch open."

"Yes..."

"What happened?"

"I remembered some things... things that my... friends said to me."

"Such as?"

"Such as, you and Abby and Gibbs. I remembered things that you all had done, things that Tony did. It made me try."

"You see, McGee? You _are_ strong."

"Not strong."

"_Yes_," Ziva corrected him firmly. "You are strong. You were on the verge of saving yourself."

"I really don't know if I could have pulled myself out." He flexed his fingers just a little and winced.

"You would have. If it had been necessary. You would have."

Tim lifted his head; his eyes were red, his face scratched and streaked with tears. "I'm tired, Ziva."

"How about your hands?"

"I'm trying to ignore them."

"Is it working?"

"No."

"Well, try not to move them. We will take you back to the hospital after we get out of here. You don't seem frightened of being in here anymore."

"That's because... I'm not alone." Tim smiled and then dropped his head again.

Ziva smiled back and scooted a little closer. They sat on the floor of the elevator, five feet from the defused bomb, for another half an hour, neither one speaking, just being there. Then, Ziva jumped as the elevator started to move. It rattled downward to the basement. Neither Ziva nor Tim made any effort to get up off the floor. When the doors finally opened, Tony, Gibbs and Abby were all staring at them.

"Comfy?" Gibbs asked.

"Why, yes, Gibbs. I am. How are you?" Ziva asked, jokingly.

Gibbs ignored her. "McGee?"

"I'm just tired, Boss."

"Think you can stand up?"

"Yeah." Tim started to do so, but suddenly his eyes rolled back in his head and he would have collapsed to the floor for the umpteenth time if the entire team hadn't rushed at him and caught him before he fell even two inches.

Tim was in a foggy haze. As soon as he had made the effort to stand up, his brain had decided to shut down all conscious activity. Overloaded as it had been by his recent experience, it now recognized a chance to recharge. Tim briefly considered fighting his way back to consciousness, but there were all those kind hands supporting him. He felt so safe and secure. He managed half a smile before he passed out, the toll of the last few hours finally being paid in full.

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"Is he okay?" Tony asked.

"Depends on in what respect... in the ones that matter, yes, I think he is," Gibbs said.

"Now what?"

"Now? We get the bomb squad in here to take care of _that_." Gibbs pointed to the corner. "We take McGee back to the hospital and we arrest the man who did all this."

"Man doesn't even come close to describing him, Gibbs," Abby said darkly. "He's a scum-sucking, piece of slime-ridden... filth..."

"Hey, you got that from _Star Wars_," Tony interjected.

"...a low-life, a waste of space, a little..."

"Right, Abby, we got it," Gibbs interrupted. "He'll get what he deserves. I put in a call to Norfolk. They'll get him as soon as he checks in."

"You think he'll go back there? Won't he stick around here, make sure everything went off?" Abby asked.

"He hasn't any other time. He's so confident that no one will stop him, he doesn't even take the time to check on whether or not the bombs will go off," Ziva said.

"Good. The bigger they are, the harder they fall," Abby replied. "Can I _help_ him fall, Gibbs?"

"Not this time. Only one free attack per year. You already used yours."

"Fine."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Afternoon, sir." The guard didn't seem quite so friendly as he had the last time Lyons had come through. He signed him in as usual, though, so he didn't worry about it... to his detriment. He stepped onto base and had about fifty guns pointed at him.

"Geoffrey Lyons, you are under arrest for murder, attempted murder, kidnaping and assault of a federal agent, attempted murder of a federal agent..." as the list of charges was read, he saw a group of three people detach themselves from the mass of soldiers aiming at him.

"...do you understand these charges as they have been read to you?" asked a gray-haird man who didn't sound like he could less about whether or not Lyons _had_ understood them. He stepped closer to Lyons and whispered in a voice that sent shivers of fear down his spine. "Do you understand what you almost did? If you had actually killed my agent, you would already be dead. I would _not_ be content to just arrest you and let the military courts deal with you. I would kill you myself and not lose a bit of sleep over it. Got that?"

The younger man put the cuffs on, rather roughly and the woman simply stared at him in a way that indicated she was dismembering him in her head. Lyons said nothing, at first, but allowed himself to be led away. Just when he got to the car, he turned back and said, "I'm relieved, you know."

"Why is that?"

"The Navy failed at every test I set them... every test but this one. There's still hope for the U.S. Navy."

Gibbs stared at him, unable to fathom how such a sane-sounding man could have done something so crazy. "Get him out of here before we all kill him and create a scandal."

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"Why, Agent Gibbs? Do you really need to ask me, why?" Lyons was entirely earnest as he sat across the table from Gibbs in the interrogation room. "You of all people should see how weak, how _rotten_ the Navy has become. Every one of those bombs should have been found before they went off. If anyone had looked, had been troubled enough to _think_, they would have found each bomb and disabled it like your agents did. They proved my point."

"You were making a point," Gibbs said carefully. For the first time that he could remember, he had put his hands _under_ the table so that he didn't leap across it and throttle Lyons. "What point were you making when you... _tried to kill my agent_?"

"I didn't try to kill him. It was his choice. He got out, didn't he?"

"Not through any help from you." _If this man says one more word, I'm going to kill him._

"True enough. He was a distraction, but also a test. NCIS is part of the Navy. Every outpost must be tested. Your agent, to my great surprise, passed the test much better than I would have guessed. You have a good man there, worth keeping."

Gibbs' hands were clenched into fists so tight that he was nearly drawing blood. "So you have no qualms with admitting that you blew up military property, injured and killed people because it was all a test?"

"Everyone has tests, Agent Gibbs." For the first time, Lyons looked almost dangerous. For some reason, that made Gibbs feel better. "I failed one of mine, but the Navy failed much worse than I ever did."

"Washed out of your SEAL training," Gibbs noted, trying to get a rise out of Lyons.

"Yes, and they thought that I couldn't hack it. Perhaps they were right, but I am only one man. I served my country and they forgot about it. They didn't bother to test me, to watch me. I have been planning this for _years_. They. Never. Knew. _That_ is a much more dangerous attitude than ringing a bell. My only regret is that I got caught before I could finish the test."

"What about Rollings?"

"What about him? He never actually saw me. The C-4 that your agent found at the house was leftover because that was the place I had Rollings leave it. He couldn't have told you who I am, but again, I am impressed with his devotion."

Gibbs stood up and left the room quickly. His only outward evidence of his inward seething was how hard he slammed the door when he left. Tony and Ziva were in observation looking about as angry as he felt.

"Can't we just kill him, Gibbs?"

"I'm with Ziva, Boss. I say we drag him out of his cell during the night, kill him, and let Abby remove all forensic traces." Tony looked over at the tech.

"Hey, I'm deaf and dumb in here," he said quickly. "As far as I'm concerned..."

"See? No witnesses, Boss!"

Gibbs smiled grimly. "Tempting, but no. Sorry. Besides, I think the entire Navy would want a piece of it; so it's not going to happen. Rest assured that he won't be getting coddled."

"Coddled? I'll coddle him," Abby said from behind them. She turned and headed toward interrogation.

"No, Abby," Gibbs said, firmly, as he held her back from entering the room.

"I want to _kill_ him, Gibbs. I don't just want to hit him. I want him to _die_! We should strap a bomb to his chest and lock him in that cage he put Tim in!" Abby shouted, pulling against his grip.

"No, Abby," Gibbs said again. Ironically, her irrational rage was calming him down.

"You _saw_ Tim, Gibbs! You saw what that..._cretin_ did to him. You _saw_ how broken Tim was... and still is! He doesn't _deserve_ a trial!"

"Abby..."

"No, Gibbs! I don't want to be reasonable right now!" Abby said, her eyes filling with tears. "No one hurts _my_ geek!"

"It's over now, Abby. Lyons isn't getting away. McGee is on the mend, physically _and_ emotionally. Besides, if you kill him, then I'll just have to find another forensics specialist, and who else would do all the work you do?"

Abby finally stopped trying to get away and smiled miserably. "It's just not fair."

"I know. Believe me. I _know_, but if you kill Lyons, you'll turn into the same kind of person he is. ...Got it?"

"Yeah, Gibbs. I got it." She heaved a big sigh. "Anything for me to do?"

"No. Go visit McGee. I don't think you'd be able to do any work anyway."

"Yes, sir," Abby said and marched past him. Gibbs smiled when he saw Tony and Ziva slip out behind her. Yes, they were _all_ healing.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

_Three months later..._

A pair of hands flew across the keyboard. A smaller pair typed madly on a keyboard nearby. In near synchronization, the two sets of hands pressed a succession of keys, moving so quickly that they almost looked blurred

"I'm winning! I'm winning!"

"You cheated. You pressed start before I did!"

"Liar! Did not!"

"Did, too! It doesn't matter. I'm up to alphanumeric sequences!"

"What?!"

"Ha! Combinations of words _and_ numbers... along with symbols!"

"I'm almost there!"

"Almost only counts in horseshoes!"

The only sounds in the lab besides the banter and the clicking of the keys were beeps and dings coming from the two computers.

"No! I lost some ground!"

"No way! Me, too! I only have one spot left!"

"I have two! Ha!"

"That won't matter if you lose them both!" The taunting became a wail. "No! Full sentences!"

"Ha!"

"No! I hit the 'Q'! I hit it!"

"Better type faster!"

"The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog! Got it!"

"No! I lost another piece!"

"Come on... come on!"

Then, at the same time, the two competitors moaned as the computers beeped the information that they had both lost all their ground.

"No!" Tim shouted and sank back into the long abandoned stool behind him. He sighed. "Man, I'm still not to my previous record."

"Tim, I can't believe you _have_ a record. This is _Typing Tutor_."

"Don't deny that you were having fun with it, too, Miss 'I'm Winning'."

"Okay, okay, I'll admit that it was more fun and more challenging than I thought. Still, that game is ancient!"

"Yeah, they don't make them like that anymore," Tim said nostalgically.

"For good reason, I think," Abby teased. She looked over at him, or more accurately, at his hands. The very fact that he was able to type as quickly as he had showed that he was almost back to form. David had agreed that his hands were ready for a regular work schedule, provided he continued the once-a-week therapy and his own exercises. Tim still had faint twinges sometimes which made him nervous, but nothing major. His hands would definitely never win any awards for beauty, however. The scarring was permanent. They would fade over time, but the places where his bones had broken through the skin, the places where he had beat his hands against the ceiling made dizzying crisscross patterns across his knuckles. A long jagged line zigzagged down the outside of his hands, from the tip of each pinky down to the wrist. There was an added complication from his injuries, one that no one had considered before. Tim now had quite a bit of metal in his hands... metal that set off every metal detector they went through. It had been embarrassing at first, but after awhile, it became a running joke. Tim as the new $6 Million Man.

Tim noticed Abby's scrutiny. He reached out and gently lifted her face to meet his. "I'm up here, Abby, not down there."

"I know, Tim. I'm sorry."

Tim lifted his hands and examined them, taking in the same scars. "These will never go away, Abby."

"I know."

"Does that bother you?"

"Only because I still get mad every time I see them. Don't you?"

"Mad? Sometimes." Tim looked at his hands again. He flexed his fingers, reveling in the lack of pain. "Mostly, I'm relieved." At her questioning glance, he added, "They still work, Abby. I almost beat you today. I'm almost back to normal. It could have turned out so much worse."

"It almost did," Abby whispered, her eyes on his scars again.

"But it didn't," Tim answered. "I had enough people worrying about me that it didn't." He again lifted her head. "Abby, those scars will never go away, but that doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because I'm still the same person I was."

Slowly, Abby reached out and held his left hand. She traced the numerous healed lacerations. "Yes, you're the same... only better." She smiled and kissed one of Tim's healed knuckles. He grinned and pulled his hand back as his phone rang.

"Yes, Boss? On my way."

"Work?"

"Yeah. New case, a murder out at Norfolk."

"Go get 'em, McGee."

Tim smiled and saluted. "Yes, ma'am." Then, he turned and ran for the elevator.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"You ready, McGee?" Gibbs asked.

"Definitely, Boss." Tim grabbed his gear and followed the team, heading back out into the field for the first time since he had been taken. Ziva met his eyes briefly and then looked down at his hands and back up. Tim smiled and nodded.

"_These injuries are not a sign of your weakness. They are a sign of your strength." _


End file.
